


It's Not a Rollercoaster

by canonantithesis



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Polar Vortex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonantithesis/pseuds/canonantithesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's REALLY cold in Chicago. What are two mounties willing to do to keep warm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:  No copyright infringement is intended. This fanfiction is based upon the Alliance Communications television series Due South. All characters and situations other than my own are the sole property of Atlantis Alliance.

Chapter 1

A blast of arctic air and snow blew open the door to the 27th Precinct as Constable Benton Fraser helped an elderly woman into the lobby.  After Diefenbaker glided through the door, Fraser immediately shut it after struggling against the strong winter wind.  

“Right this way, ma’am,” he said to the old woman as he ushered her up to the desk sergeant. “This officer should be able to aid you.”

“Thank you so much, young man. I don’t know what I would have done without you,” the elderly woman gushed to the tall Mountie.

“My pleasure, ma’am,” the young Canadian replied.

Fraser reached up, by force of habit, for the brim of his Stetson in order to properly tip it to the woman, only to realize that he wasn’t wearing it.  On this, the coldest day in Chicago history, he was wearing his muskrat fur hat for the second time since coming to Chicago.

The first time he wore it was on the day he met his current supervisor, Inspector Thatcher. In fact, it was at her less than gentle insistence that he do so. Now, however, it was justified.

With real temperatures hovering at twenty-seven degrees below zero and wind chills of negative forty, Fraser felt it was justified. Still… he did miss his Stetson.

As he walked away, he heard the old woman inquire about the status of her Harley which had been demolished by a City of Chicago snowplough.

Upon entering the squad room, Fraser walked immediately to Ray’s desk while Diefenbaker made his usual rounds collecting treats from various dependable humans around the large room. Ray wasn’t there, so Fraser removed his James Bay storm coat and draped it carefully on the back of the chair. He removed his cap and carefully placed it on his lap and settled down to wait for his friend. They had arranged to meet here, but the rough weather was probably holding him up.

Raised voices from a few desks away quickly caught Fraser’s attention.

“Did you actually graduate from high school? Because I find it hard to believe, man.” Detective Jack Huey was obviously frustrated with his partner, Thomas Dewey.

Dewey sat slouched down in his office chair with his legs sticking straight out, the high polish of his Italian loafers tapping excitedly on the old, worn floor. Despite the cold weather, he was wearing a forest green dress shirt and tie with a coordinating brown suit jacket to match those expensive shoes.

“I’m just saying,” started Dewey, “that I’m pretty sure that’s the name of that new roller coaster at Six Flags. You know, the one where you’re tilted face-down for the whole ride.”

Huey, who was leaning on the edge of his desk, looked like he was ready to throttle Dewey until he spotted Fraser across the room and called for him to join them.

“Fraser! You’ve heard of the polar vortex, right?”

“Yes, I have. Why do you ask?” Fraser asked as he arrived at Dewey’s desk.

“Because this idiot,” Huey explained while throwing a thumb towards his partner to specify to which idiot he was referring, “thinks it’s an amusement park ride and I say it’s responsible for this crappy weather.”

“If I may,” Fraser started as he picked up a piece of paper and a pencil from Huey’s desk. “I’ll explain.” He drew a rough sketch of the Northern Hemisphere and added a line starting in Northern Asia and sweeping down to Chicago before heading back north towards Canada’s east coast.

“Looks like a giant smiley face,” commented Dewey.

“Shush and listen. Maybe you’ll learn something,” returned Huey.

“A polar vortex is a persistent, large-scale cyclone located near either of the Earth’s poles. The polar vortices are located in the middle and upper troposphere and the stratosphere. They surround the polar highs and lie in the wake of the polar front. These cold-core low-pressure areas strengthen in the winter and weaken in the summer due to their reliance upon the temperature differential between the equator and the poles.”

He continued to add arrows and swirls to the drawing to help the officers understand his explanation.

“They usually span less than 620 miles in which the air circulates in a counter-clockwise fashion. As with other cyclones, their rotation is caused by the Coriolis effect. The Arctic vortex in the Northern Hemisphere has two centers, one near Baffin Island, also known as Qikiqtaaluk in Inuktitut, and the other over northeast Siberia.”

Fraser paused to glance up at the two detectives. Their eyes were completely glazed over in confusion or lack of interest… or both.

Dewey shook himself out of his stupor and gently elbowed his partner to get his attention. “Hey, when this winter’s over, how ‘bout we take a Saturday and go to Six Flags?”

Huey nodded slowly, “Sounds like a good plan, man.”

Before Constable Fraser could continue with his lecture, Ray came into the squad room, followed closely by a brightly colored Francesca Vecchio. Ray’s youngest sister wore a hot pink North Face ski coat and matching hot pink Doc Martin boots. The rest of her wardrobe was obscured due to the piercingly intense pink coat.

“Hiya, Frase. Sorry I’m late. Frannie insisted on coming with me and then, wasn’t ready when it was time to leave.” He glared at his sister before he added, “Typical.”

“Well… in this kind of cold, I’m not taking a chance on getting stuck on some L for hours on end. Oh, good morning, Benton.” Francesca’s tone had immediately changed from scathing to sultry when she saw the handsome constable.

Just then, Ray spotted Lt Welsh motioning for him to come to his office.

“I’ll be right back,” he announced, but was pretty sure no one heard him.

Francesca sauntered up to Fraser as her voice dropped conspiratorially, “My, but you do look fine this frigid morning.” She placed her palm flat against his wool covered chest and slowly moved it around in circles. “I just love the feel of … red. Makes me want to crawl up inside it with you.”

Fraser nervously backed up a half step until he hit the edge of Ray’s desk. He placed his hand over hers in an effort to remove it from his chest, but Francesca managed to twist things around and ended up holding his hand in hers in a surprisingly strong grip. She closed what little distance there was between them and, since he was pinned against the desk, there was no retreat.

Francesca’s lips were mere inches from Fraser’s as she stood on her tiptoes to bring herself face to face with him.

“You know, Benton, I heard an interesting story of survival recently.”

Fraser swallowed slowly as he felt her breath on his face. He tried to speak to tell her to stop, but he couldn’t get the words out.

She leaned her lower body into his and wiggled as she whispered slowly and seductively, “It seems there was a man and a woman and they were trapped together in the frigid cold with no way to keep warm. No heat, no blankets…” she leaned over to the shell of his ear and whispered, “... nothing. And do you know how they stayed alive, Benton? Can you guess?”

Fraser’s eyes were wide with what looked like fright, but he finally found his voice as he replied weakly, “N-n-no. I have no idea.”

She brought her mouth back to his as she finished her tale.

“They made love,” she whispered against his lips. “They made love and the heat they produced during their lovemaking kept them alive.”

Francesca tried to suck his bottom lip into her mouth, but Fraser, using all of his willpower, gently pushed her away a foot or so.

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Although that is an interesting story, I’m not sure it would actually be of benefit in a survival situation.”

Francesca’s glossy lips poked out in a childish pout as she put her hands on her hips, readying herself for battle. However, before she could launch the first salvo, Ray reappeared with Lt Welsh.

“Ah, Miss Vecchio. I believe we have an appointment,” announced the lieutenant.

“Lieutenant Welsh!” the flamboyant Italian gushed, “How wonderful to see you again! How’s the wife, sir?”

“Well,” he started slowly, “since the divorce, she’s been doing fine, just fine.”

Francesca whipped her head around and glared at Ray. Ray, in his stead, simply shrugged his shoulders and ignored her. He guessed that would be the last time she asked his advice on how to impress the boss.

“So you’re here to talk about the civilian aid position…” Welsh said as he escorted Francesca into his office.

“Frase? You ever wonder that maybe there’s no God?”

“Why do you ask, Ray?”

“Because if there is a God, Frannie will not get that job.”

Turning to Fraser, Vecchio became more serious.  “We’ve got a call down at the Port Authority. Time to suit back up,” Ray added as he started pulling on the winter gear he had just taken off.

He stopped short when he saw Fraser’s winter hat perched upon the mountie’s head. The hat was black wool with brown fur ear and forehead flaps, which were flipped up.

“My God, Benny, what the hell died on top of your head?”

“It’s the official cold weather headgear of the RCMP, Ray.” Benton grimaced before saying his next sentence, realizing the hazing it would insight from Ray. “It’s made of muskrat fur.”

“Muskat? That’s disgusting. Aren’t they like skunks or something?”

“They’re actually closer to lemmings.”

“But they stink, right? Like skunk.”

“I believe they do have a slight musk, hence the name.”

Ray leaned slightly toward Fraser before asking, “So, does it smell?” Then he noticed that Fraser’s winter parka had a fur-lined hood. He couldn’t resist commenting. “The hood’s fur too? Holy Toledo, how many muskrats died to keep you warm?”

“This,” he fingered the parka’s hood, “is made from coyote fur, Ray.”

“You Canadians are a brutal people, you know that?”

At the same time Ray placed his own winter hat on his head, a hat colloquially referred to an Elmer Fudd hat, complete with red plaid ear flaps and oversized bill.

Fraser, to his credit, did not reply to Ray’s needling.

Instead, he said slowly under his breath, “It's wabbit season, and I'm hunting wabbits.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed and he asked suspiciously, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Ray.”

“Oh, it’s something alright.”

“You are mistaken. Shouldn’t we be leaving now?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, but I’m gonna figure that one out.”

As they neared the door, they passed by Huey and Dewey, leaning over a map of Six Flags as they continued their argument about the Polar Vortex.

Dewey looked up when he saw Ray and asked, “Hey, Ray? You even hear of the Polar Vortex?”

“Sure, it’s that all-wooden coaster at Cedar Point. I rode it last year with my nephew. Don’t ever get on a roller coaster with a kid who just ate a pound of cotton candy.” He said, sagely, “Trust me on this one.”

Huey and Dewey looked at each other in surprise and simultaneously exclaimed, “Cedar Point!”

“That’s why we couldn’t find it. I think I got a map in my filing cabinet,” said Dewey as he started searching through his old pre-World War II metal cabinet.

“What was that all about?”, Ray asked as they walked out the door and headed for the stairs.

“Well, you see, the polar vortex…”

*      *      *

 

As they exited the front door of the precinct, back into the frigid cold, Vecchio summarized the last three minutes of their conversation.

“So it’s not a roller coaster, but we can still blame it on Canada, right?”

Fraser nodded in agreement, “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

 

*      *      *

 

After nearly five minutes of listening to Ray first praise and then curse his ‘71 Buick Riviera, that fine example of classic American automotive supremacy, it finally turned over and the ancient engine started. The blowing snow and buffeting winds made the trip very slow. Thankfully, there weren’t many other cars on the street.

As they neared the shore near the Port Authority, they saw a small crowd standing out on the frozen lake. Normally, Lake Michigan would exude an eerie calm on a day this cold. It was surreal --- no sound of waves lapping against the barrier, no seagulls loudly searching for their dinner, no shrill steam whistles from a myriad of commercial vessels on the water.  In fact, because of the freeze-over, the lake didn’t look like a lake at all. It looked like a flat, wintery plain.  Today, however, the pair were immediately drawn to the sound of a chainsaw revving in the air.

“This must be the place,” commented Ray as he slid the Riv into park, but didn’t turn off the ignition. “I’m not taking any chances this time,” he said, explaining why he was leaving the car running.

As they approached the crowd, Ray pointed to a man dressed in a heavy parka with a winter cap that looked eerily similar to Fraser’s.

“Hey, look, Benny. Maybe your hat and his are related.”

“I believe he may be the one who called us.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Vecchio took a moment to survey the crowd. There was one man with a chainsaw busily cutting through the ice; there was another man with large ice tongs; there were approximately fifteen people, mostly men shivering in the cold with large towels wrapped around their bodies and bare feet on the frozen lake; there were supporting family members of the shivery people, holding extra blankets and cameras; there was a camera crew from the local ABC affiliate; and finally, there was the man in question. He didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of people. And he didn’t look at all happy to be there. Even the shivering people seemed excited by the event, whatever it was.

“You might have something there, Benny. Let’s go talk to him.”

The man with Fraser’s hat on his head did not notice the pair approach as he was so completely engrossed in watching the others.  The chainsaw wielding man cut loose a section of ice and his assistant quickly plunged the ice tongs into the sides of the large ice block and hauled it out of the water to join three other similar blocks.

“Those people are complete idiots,” the man commented to no one in particular.

“I’m with you on that one, buddy,” commented Ray.

The man turned in surprise to see Fraser and Vecchio standing next to him.

“Pardon our lack of manners,” Fraser said as he brought his hand to the fur brim of his muskrat hat, “I’m Constable Benton Fraser of the RCMP and this is Detective Ray Vecchio of the Chi…”

“You’re the police!” the man interrupted excitedly. “What took you so long? They’re almost ready to go.”

“Go where?” asked Vecchio.

The man pointed frantically at the shivering group of barefooted people huddled together near the rapidly expanding hole.

“Those idiots are members of the Lakeview Polar Bear Club and they’re about to take a Polar Plunge.”

“But isn’t that what they do? Plunge into cold water, I mean.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But this year because of the polar vortex, we’ve canceled the plunge. They are doing this completely on their own,” the man seemed to become more and more agitated as he spoke.

“Excuse me, Mr. …?” Ray prompted the man for his name.

“I’m sorry. My name is Thomas Rainer and I’m the Lakeview Polar Bear Club’s attorney.”

“Polar bears need attorneys?”

“Of course, no member is allowed to participate in any club activities without signing a legal waiver. The consequences would be disastrous.”

“And I assume that these people have not signed the waiver?” Frasier asked as he glanced at the group of people. They were starting to cheer-on the chainsaw operators. The sounds of “Go! Go! Go!” reverberated across the lake.

“That’s right. They must sign the waiver and release before each and every plunge and since this year’s plunge was canceled, they weren’t allowed to sign the waiver. Therefore, they shouldn’t be plunging.”

“Okay, so what do you expect us to do?” Ray asked in frustration. He just wanted to speed this thing along and get back to the station was getting cold.

“Stop them! March out there and send them on their way.” Mr. Rainer punctuated his remark by jabbing a mitten covered hand in the direction of the crowd.

Ray shook his head from side to side in resignation. For a native-born Chicagoan, he hated the cold and really wished this dispute could be settled inside a warm coffee shop.

“Look, Mr. Rainer, you’re right that those people are idiots.” Vecchio paused for dramatic effect as he reached into the inner linings of his coat and produced a piece of paper. “However, these particular idiots have a permit issued by the City of Chicago, so we can’t stop them.”

The irate lawyer stamped his foot on the ice in frustration. However, before he could continue with his tirade, screams erupted from the makeshift swimming hole. The two policemen reacted immediately and ran toward the hole, only to realize that these were screams of … _freezing your gonads off and needing to scream about it_ , not screams of a police nature.

The unauthorized Polar Bears splashed around in the water for approximately ten seconds before the most weak-hearted among them began to get out and head immediately towards their warm vehicles. Fraser and Vecchio stood with the distressed lawyer and watched the spectacle. Mr. Rainer, realizing that he couldn’t do anything else, decided to enjoy the event by joining the policemen in making fun of the swimmers. Cold water did humorous things to the male body, especially when that body was clad in only a Speedo. Of course, cold water also did wonderful things to the female body as all three men could agree.

There were only about three people left in the water went a scream with a decidedly different pitch pierced the air. The two policemen, working under the assumption of ‘fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me’, did not react as quickly as before.

However, Vecchio quickly realized that something serious was happening, based on the number of gasps and murmurs and the crowd which now completely surrounded the hole. With his badge held up in front of him like a lantern on a dark night, the detective pushed his way through the throng of onlookers until he and Fraser could clearly see the water.

There, in the frigidly cold waters of the makeshift swimming hole, floated the blue and bloated body of a completely naked woman. She was floating face-down in the water with tendrils of long blonde hair billowing out around her head.

Ray called back to the lawyer, “Wow, that’ll keep’em outta the water. Right, Rainer?”

He turned to look for the distraught lawyer, only to see him lying flat on his back on the snow covered lake. He had fainted.

Fraser drew Vecchio’s attention back to the matter at hand when he leaned toward his friend and whispered, “Look at her ankle, Ray.”

“I never pictured you as a leg man, Frase.”

“The rope, Ray. The body was held under the water,” Fraser explained as he pointed to the bright yellow nylon rope tied around the woman’s ankle.

“Until that rope was cut, right? You mean somebody anchored that body down under the water, which was also under eighteen inches of ice, by the way, directly under where these idiots decide to cut a hole in the lake and go for a dip? Isn’t that sort of far fetched, even for one of our cases?”

“Perhaps, but that’s not all, Ray,” Fraser continued, “I think we need to inform Inspector Thatcher of this death.”

“Why’s that?”

“She may very well have been a Canadian citizen,” Fraser commented as he stood staring at the body floating gently in the icy water. Her long blonde hair already starting to form ice crystals.

Ray looked down at the dead woman and added his speculation.

“Or… she might just be a really big hockey fan.”

The two men looked at each other and then simultaneously turned back to the body. The sound of police cars could be heard in the distance. One of the witnesses must have called the police. However, the detective and the mountie didn’t acknowledge them as they continued to stare down at the woman’s lower back. She had a large tramp stamp of a Canadian maple leaf.

* TBC *

 

Author’s Notes

This is my first Due South story and it’s not finished yet, but I wanted to get it up before the spring thaw. I’m a big fan of Fraser/Thatcher and she’ll be showing up in chapter 2.

Oh, RCMP does use a lot of animal fur in their uniforms. All that muskat and coyote stuff is absolutely true. I did a bit of research.

Hope the few Due South fans out there enjoy this. If you did, please take the time to let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

Inspector Margaret Thatcher thought living in the states would mean an end to those ungodly Canadian winters. One of her requirements for an assignment with the RCMP was that it NOT have a line of electrical plugs hanging in every parking lot to keep a car’s engine block warm enough that it didn’t freeze solid. This winter was as bad as any she had experienced in Ottawa. Maybe for her next assignment, she could try for Vancouver. Of course, she would need to not make a mess of this assignment first. Constable Benton Fraser made that goal a little trying at times.

Winston Churchill once stated about Russia that it was “a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma; but perhaps there is a key”. Benton Fraser was her Russia and she had no clue where to find that key. They might have almost found it together on the train, but then she stupidly snapped to her senses. She was a female inspector in the RCMP, still a rarity even in the 1990’s. It simply would not do for her to lose her head (or more accurately, her heart) to a subordinate, particularly a constable, the lowest rank in the service. What had she been thinking when they kissed on top of that runaway train?

“Damn!”, Thatcher exclaimed as she tried to clear her windshield by squirting wiper fluid on the snow and slush covering the glass. 

Nothing happened. Nothing happened because the idiot mechanic who serviced her car in the fall assured her that this particular wiper fluid would be sufficient for a Chicago winter. Well, it wasn’t. It was frozen and as a result, she could barely see where she was going.

When Fraser called using Vecchio’s cellphone to tell her about a potential Canadian connection to a murder those two nimrods stumbled across, Meg had immediately sprang into action. She commanded Turnbull to rearrange her schedule so she could make it to the crime scene. If the truth be told, her days, lately, had been one boring event after the other, separated by odd moments of frozen fingers and toes when a meeting with one financial entity or the other required her to leave the warmth of the consulate.

She arrived at Oak Street Beach and then spent another ten minutes trying to find a parking spot. She remembered coming here last summer, her first summer in Chicago. It was so blessedly hot. This was one of her favorite places in the city, despite the tremendous crowds during those gloriously warm summer days. Despite the bitter weather, today was no different. The place was swarming with police, TV cameras, and insane Chicagoans who had nothing better to do on the coldest day in Chicago history. Finally, she managed to find a parking garage a block away. Normally, she would be wearing a business suit and probably freezing her butt off. However, late this afternoon she had to attend a function at the Mexican Embassy and, in an effort to dissuade the Consul General’s wandering hands, she was wearing the dress uniform with its iconic jacket of red serge and blue wool breeches with yellow stripe. And due to this insane weather, she had opted for the winter parka and fur cap. It wasn’t fashionable by any stretch of the imagination, but today was not a day for fashion.

When she finally arrived at the frozen lake, the Chicago police had the area blocked off with bright yellow barricade tape proclaiming “Police Line: Do Not Cross”. As she approached, Thatcher saw Fraser and that irritating Detective Vecchio standing next to a cloth draped mound, which was rapidly becoming covered with newly fallen snow. She presumed this mound was the body she was there to see. The two men were in deep conversation with a third person who was so thickly covered in winter clothing that she couldn’t tell if the person was male or female.

* * *

“This is the coldest I have ever been in my entire life,” moaned Ray as he swayed slightly in the blustery wind. “I swear it’s dropped twenty degrees since we got here.”

Frozen Lake Michigan offered little protection from the elements. The wind seemed to whip first this way and then that, as if the wind, itself, was trying to personally torment them.

“Taking into consideration the wind chill, it feels like −40° out here on the lake,” Fraser stated authoritatively.

“Is that Fahrenheit or Celsius?” asked Ray.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s the same,” answered the mountie.

“You’re kidding? All this time I thought they were different. If they’re the same, then why have two scales? This is such a confusing day.”

“He means that −40° is where the Fahrenheit and Celsius scales intersect,” stated the well-wrapped man who had just walked up. “Hello, I’m Mort Gustafson. I’m from the ME’s office and I’ve been assigned this case.” Although his voice was slightly muffled through the thick scarf which encircled his face, the two police officers understood him perfectly well.

“Who’d you piss off, Mort?” quipped Ray. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”

“Indeed,” Gustafson inhaled slowly through his scarf.

“Dr. Gustafson,” Fraser said politely, as he proceeded to introduce himself and Ray.

Just then, the wind shifted and Benton caught a whiff of a very familiar and pleasant scent in the air. Without another word, he walked away from the men and headed directly towards Inspector Thatcher who was standing at the edge of the cordoned off area.

“Vecchio, you say? That’s Italian for old. Did you know that? But of course you did. After all, you’re Italian too, right? Puccini is one of my favorite Italian composers.”

Then the doctor did a most peculiar thing, he started singing in Italian, more precisely, Italian opera. Ray looked around frantically for Fraser, only to see him running across the lake toward Thatcher who’d finally arrived.

How could Fraser leave him alone with this loon?

“O mio babbino caro,  
mi piace, è bello, bello.  
Vo'andare in Porta Rossa,  
a comperar l'anello!

Sì, sì, ci voglio andare!  
e se l'amassi indarno,  
andrei sul Ponte Vecchio,  
ma per buttarmi in Arno!...”

* * *

Meg saw Fraser lift his head and sniff the air, moving to zero in on some unseen odor until he turned directly toward her. Their eyes locked momentarily until Meg broke the moment with a sardonic lift of her left eyebrow. 

That man was so infuriating. He had smelled her. From across a frozen lake with scores of people roaming around, he had picked out her scent.

Fraser quickly ran across the snow-covered lake toward her and lifted the barricade tape so she could enter the crime scene.

“Inspector,” Fraser said in greeting, “so good of you to join us so quickly, sir.”

She ducked under the tape and he gallantly offered her his hand. She nodded to him curtly as she accepted his help. 

“Constable,” Thatcher said as a terse greeting. “Well, let’s not just stand around freezing all day. Show me this supposed Canadian.”

“Yes, sir. Right this way.”

However, neither of them moved until Thatcher glanced down, drawing Fraser’s attention to the fact that he was still holding her hand. His already flushed-with-cold cheeks turned a brighter shade of pink and he immediately apologized as he dropped her glove-covered hand. Even through layers of Thinsulate, she felt an instant loss of heat when his hand left hers.

* * *

The two mounties approached just as the doctor was finishing his aria.  
“...Babbo, pietà, pietà!  
Babbo, pietà, pietà!”

“Thank God you’re back, Benny,” Ray ran over to greet Fraser as if he was his long lost brother. He thumbed back in the direction of the doctor, “That guy’s a whack job. And, oh my God, you two look like matching bookends.”

Ignoring Ray’s non sequitur comment, Fraser said, “Nonsense, Ray. That’s an aria from Puccino’s Gianni Schicchi. I assume he chose that song because of its reference to Ponte Vecchio since it contains your name.”

“Yeah, he said something about that right before he went off on that opera thing.”

“From what I heard, Ray, I think he did a remarkable job ... considering.”

“Considering what? That he’s a lunatic?”

“No, detective,” interjected Thatcher, “Considering he’s a man. That aria is traditionally sung by a soprano.”

“That’s right. It’s one of Puccino’s most recognizable pieces,” added Fraser.

“Ah, two lovers...” Gustafson addressed the two mounties as he walked over to join them.

Thatcher and Fraser both flushed furiously and simultaneously stepped away from each other when they realized they were standing shoulder to shoulder.

“...of Italian opera,” finished the good doctor. “I’m Mort Gustafson, from the Medical Examiner’s Office,” he said as he held out a mittened hand to Thatcher.

The Inspector cleared her throat as she gathered herself together and nodded to the doctor. “Meg Thatcher, Liaison Officer, Canadian Consulate.”

“Now...” Gustafson rubbed his hands together briskly. “Let’s see what we have here before I freeze to death.” 

He lifted back the cloth to reveal the naked body of a young woman splayed out on the snow. She was blue and slightly bloated and the mere sight of her sent a chill down Meg’s spine. After swallowing the sudden build-up of saliva in her mouth, the Inspector in her started to visually examine the body. That’s when she noticed the maple leaf tattoo on her lower spine. She supposed that was why they called her. It seemed like a stretch to her, but if she had learned one thing in working with Benton Fraser it was that he had remarkable instincts.

“Help me turn her over,” commanded Gustafson. 

Fraser reacted quickly, while Vecchio grumbled but helped nonetheless. They turned the woman’s body over and Vecchio was the first to react. 

“Whoa.” Ray couldn’t help his reaction. “Is that normal for Canadian babes?” Surprisingly, he directed his question to Inspector Thatcher.

“Excuse me?” she snapped.

Ray flushed at the intensity of her glare. “Well… you know… her private … area. Is that a common thing for women in Canada to do to themselves?”

Now it was Thatcher’s turn to blush. “How the hell should I know?”

“Well, you’re a Canadian woman, right?” He phrased the question in such a way that it appeared that he wasn’t actually sure if she was a woman or a Canadian.

However, it was Fraser who answered his question. 

“Actually, I believe it is more common in Brazil, hence the name.”

“What name?”

“It’s commonly known as a Brazilian wax, Ray.”

“Oh, yeah? And which of your grandmother’s books did you read that in?”

“Excuse me, but would anyone care to know my opinion?”

All three of them turned to the doctor who was still crouched next to the body. He now had his mittens off and was starting to look very cold.

“You know about Brazilian waxes?” asked Vecchio.

“I was referring to the victim,” Gustafson said, trying to bring the focus back to the question at hand. “So you say she was held under the water, presumably by the rope around her ankle?”

Fraser answered, “That is correct. We believe that one of the swimmers cut the rope and released the body.”

“Swimmers?” asked Thatcher.

Vecchio, who was finally starting to focus on more than the dead woman’s nether regions, answered. “Yeah, a bunch of nuts who like to swim in freezing water. We’ve got them all down at the station for questioning.”

“Well, I’ll be able to tell more once I have her on the table, but I’m guessing she’s been dead for at least a week or so.”

“A week?” exclaimed Vecchio. “How’s that?”

“When a cadaver goes in the water, the air in the lungs start to be replaced with water, causing the body to sink. Once submerged, the body stays underwater until the bacteria in the intestines and chest cavity produce enough gas—methane, hydrogen sulfide, and carbon dioxide—to float it to the surface like a balloon.”

“Except that this body was tied down,” observed Thatcher.

“Correct,” agreed the doctor.

“So, did she drown?” Vecchio asked.

“I won’t know for sure until I examine her, but I’d have to say that the bullets probably were a contributing factor.”

“Bullets? What bullets?” Vecchio’s raised voice came out in an embarrassing squeak.

“They’re difficult to see because of the body’s bloating, but there are two distinct holes here … and here,” Doctor Gustafson said as he pointed with a ruler to her upper chest and lower stomach.

With that, Gustafson stood and started to pull his mittens back on.

“I’m ready to transport her now. I should be able to start the autopsy later today. I assume you’ll want to be there.”

“Yeah, yeah… we’ll be there. Just give me a call. Okay, Doc?”

The medical personnel quickly gathered up the body and placed it in a black body bag and carried it quickly to the nearby ambulance. The doctor followed gratefully behind them.

Vecchio turned to the two mounties. 

“Well, I gotta get back to the station and oversee all those frozen witnesses and see if one of them is our killer. Could you check with the Port Authority and see if they have any video of the area? They should be expecting you.” the detective directed the question to Fraser, assuming that the inspector would be going back to the warmth of the consulate.

Fraser nodded in agreement, but Thatcher spoke first.

“I’ll go with Fraser. That way he’ll have a ride to the ME’s office. You can call me when you find out the time of the autopsy. We’ll meet you there.” She handed him her business card. “My cell number’s on there.”

The two men stared at her in surprise.

“What? If she really is a Canadian citizen, it’s my duty to help find her killer.”

“Oh, okay. Umm…” Ray started to dig around in his pocket until he came up with an old 7-11 receipt. It took another half minute to find a pen, but he was finally able to hand her his phone number, albeit wrinkled and slightly smeared.

Vecchio clapped his hands together with loud bang. 

“Alright, people. Let’s get going.”

As Vecchio walked away, he heard the Dragon Lady ask Fraser, “What’s with the Elmer Fudd hat?”

* * *

“I apologize for disrupting your day, Inspector.” 

Benton Fraser sat ramrod straight in Inspector Thatcher’s immaculate Lexus LS 400. Although they were meant to be a luxurious amenity, he found the heated leather seat a bit disconcerting. It was as if some unknown person had just vacated the seat and he was absorbing that person’s body heat. He gripped his muskrat fur cap tightly, but it wasn’t helping. It was his habit to constantly worry his Stetson around and around in his hands. It seemed to be therapeutic and soothing in every manner of tense situations. Unfortunately, the muskrat cap brought no comfort whatsoever.

“It’s not a problem. The day looked to be quite boring,” Thatcher replied as she expertly maneuvered the vehicle out of the parking garage and back out onto the snow packed streets. 

In less than two blocks, she slammed her foot on the brakes simultaneously as her hand hit the car horn when a city trash truck barreled out in front of them.

“Crazy American driver!” 

Even though Benton was a perfectly adequate driver, he preferred the wide open spaces of western Canada, rather than the tense city driving of Chicago. In fact, he longed for just such solitude right now.

Once they started moving again and Benton’s heart had stopped pounding in his chest, he decided to try and continue the conversation with his superior. He seemed to find himself unusually nervous around her and this erratic car ride wasn’t helping things.

“Umm, I doubt an afternoon viewing video surveillance tapes will be what one would call exciting.”

“You haven’t met the new Mexican Consul General. Trust me, a little boredom will be a welcome change from having to constantly remove his hand from my knee. Why do you think I wore the Red Serge?” 

She stopped the car at a traffic light and Benton took the opportunity to tell her, “Red suits you.” 

Everytime he said those words, Thatcher’s heart skipped a beat. Her head tipped to the side, causing her mass of dark hair to fall over the right side of her face, thereby hiding the bashful smile which came unbidden.

Without over thinking his actions or even thinking at all, for that matter, he reached over and gently swept her hair back over her ear.

“You need a hairpin,” he said softly.

She turned to look at him, which was a mistake. It was always very difficult to concentrate on anything other than those bedroom blue eyes when she looked at him.

“I seem to have misplaced them all.”

They found themselves drawing closer and closer together until their lips were only centimeters apart. Meg automatically tilted her head to the side and parted her lips in anticipation of...

The blare of the car horn caused them to jump apart. The light had turned to green and an angry American driver was telling them in no uncertain terms that he was tired of waiting.

Thatcher immediately gunned the engine and the Lexus leapt into traffic. Fraser sat back in the warm seat and stared straight ahead, afraid to look in her direction.

The rest of the trip went by in an awkward silence until they, at last, arrived at the Illinois International Port District, or as it was known colloquially, the Port Authority. Because of the constantly accumulating snowfall this winter, parking on the street was nonexistent. So for the second time in one day, Meg found herself searching for an accessible parking garage. She was starting to long for her reserved spot back at the consulate.

They pulled into the closest municipal parking garage and found an empty slot below ground level. She quickly pulled her car in. Meg would never park in such an isolated spot if she was alone. However, having Fraser with her made her feel very safe and protected, even if she would never admit it to him. She allowed him to take control while they were inside the dark garage. He opened and closed the car door for her, escorted her to the elevator and made sure she safely exited the garage.

TBC

Author’s Notes:

My first love has always been Star Trek and I find that writing dialogue for Fraser involves the same thought processes as writing for a Star Trek Vulcan.  
Live Long and Prosper.

Please, Please, Please… if you’re out there and you’re reading this, let me know by throwing me a review.


	3. Chapter 3

Detective Raymond Vecchio strutted toward the Violent Crimes Division fully prepared to play the peacock to a room full of adoring hens. After over ten years on the force, he was finally getting somewhere. As morbid as it sounded, this murder would do great things for his career. He was going to be in charge of a major investigation. He had already removed his big winter parka and was smoothing out his newest Armani suit. What he saw when he entered the large open office, however, caused his metaphorical feathers to droop and fall to the floor.

The room was filled to the brim which surprised Ray, considering they only sent about twenty-five people down here to be questioned. Even so, there must be over seventy-five extra people crammed into a space which normally accommodated less than half that. And they were all talking, shouting actually, at the same time. He recognized many of them, the ones who were sitting wrapped in damp towels and shivering. Other he recognized by their demeanor, the hawk-like, hunger in the eyes. These were the lawyers. Others were concerned family members and reporters looking for a hot (pardon the expression) story. Was one of these people a murderer?

All the screaming and chaos reminded Ray of his last Vecchio family dinner. He suddenly decided that he didn’t want to be in charge of a major investigation after all. So before anyone saw him, he turned to leave … and smacked right into Detective Dewey, who was carrying a cardboard takeout carrier in each hand. They were both full of white Styrofoam coffee cups and said coffee was now all over imported Italian blazer … and dripping down his pants … and into his boots … and forming a puddle on the floor.

Dewey’s partner, Huey, was right behind him, also heavily laden with hot caffeinated goodness. Luckily, he was able to stop before this small spill dominoed into a major disaster.

Francesca appeared from the crowd and took the unspilled coffee from Huey and immediately turned on her brother.

“What the hell are you doin’, Ray? I am NOT catching flak from those people because you spilled all their coffee. And you two”, she snapped at Huey and Dewey, “here’s the next order and make sure you tell them soy this time. I’m not taking responsibility for somebody swelling up and dying from drinking cow’s milk. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the two detectives replied in unison before turning and leaving the room.

She turned back to Ray and added, “And you… you owe me $20 for that coffee you’re wearin’.”

“$20?” Ray squeaked. “What kind of coffee costs $20?”

“It’s basic economics, Ray. Supply and demand.”

“Wait a minute. You’re charging them? We give the coffee away for free.”

“When opportunity freezes its butt off in the police station for hours, I seize it.”

“Does Welsh know about this, Frannie?”

Instead of answering, she picked out one of the cups from the carrier, read the side of the cup, and called out, “Lieutenant Welsh? Here’s your decaf with two saccharins, sir.”

As the hot coffee seemed to seep into his very pores, Ray’s one overriding thought was, “And to think, this is the first time I’ve been warm all day.”

Before he could try to sneak out again, Lt Welsh spotted him and weaved his way over while carefully carrying his styrofoam cup up above his head to protect it.

“Vecchio! Is this your doing?”

“Umm…”

“Come with me,” Welsh demanded as he threaded his way back through the crowd to the seclusion of his office.

* * *

The two mounties entered the Port District building and Inspector Thatcher took charge, walking to the information desk and making her presence known.

“We’re investigating a murder. The body was discovered at Oak Street Beach and we’d like to review any surveillance video you have of the area for the past ten days.”

A weary face peered back at them from behind a window. They were completely separated by very thick glass which made one think of a prison visitation room rather that a government entity which regulated naval traffic.

The sallow faced woman behind the glass motioned to the tiny opening in the window and then touched her ear to indicate that she didn’t hear them before.

Fraser amiably bent his tall frame down to the little window and tried to repeat the Inspector’s request, but the woman interrupted him.

“Are you two Russian?” the attendant shouted back in a carcinogen-filled voice as she eyed their muskrat caps and arctic parkas.

“No, ma’am,” replied Fraser, nonplused, “We’re Canadian.” 

“Then, why are you dressed like Cossacks?” Her gravelly voice croaked out.

“This is the winter uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, ma’am.”

“Mounties? Like Dudley Do-Right?”

Thatcher had had enough. She pushed Fraser out of the way and lowered her face down to the little window.

“Is there anyone else we could speak with?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. It’s 40 degrees below zero out there. The only people who bothered to come in today are those of us who ain’t got no more leave to use.”

Thatcher threw her hands up in defeat. “I give up.”

Fraser moved back in position at the window and tried again.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I believe you should be expecting us. Did Detective Vecchio ca…”

“Poco Raymundo?” The older woman’s demeanor completely transformed as her voice took on a lyrical quality when she spoke her native Italian. She smiled brightly at Benton and a little twinkle lit up in her eyes. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’m his Zia Sophia. His mamma and me, we’re like sisters. I practically raised little Ray.” 

She reached her hand under the desk and a door at the end of the room opened automatically. 

“Go through there. I’ll come around and meet you.” 

“Thank you, kindly,” Fraser said as he followed Inspector Thatcher to the now open door.

* * *

After thirty minutes of listening to the wonders of Vecchio as a child, Thatcher found she actually missed the grumpy old woman who wanted to know if they were Cossacks. Fraser, of course, was the poster child for Canadian politeness. He wasn’t just Canadian; he was super Canadian.

“Thank you kindly, Sophia,” Fraser said for the fourth time as the now helpful clerk brought in another cart loaded with VHS tapes.

Ray’s Aunt Sophia had sequestered them in a small room with a table, two chairs, a VHS player and a tiny television. After spending the previous hour freezing in various parts of the city, it was actually stiflingly hot in here. Fraser had stripped down to his red union suit and uniform breeches, while Thatcher wore only her white uniform shirt and breeches. Their winter gear was neatly stacked in a corner of the small room.

“Not a problem, Benito. You’re just a lucky boy because this week it’s so cold that all the cameras quit working. Just let me know if I can help more,” cooed the older woman before she promptly left the room.

Thatcher watched the door close and commented to Fraser, “It may just be my imagination, but I swear that woman did not have an Italian accent when we first came in.”

“Perhaps she didn’t feel comfortable speaking with her natural accent when we were strangers.”

“Oh right, Benito. I forgot how close the two of you have become.” Her voice sounded petty, even to her, but she didn’t care. 

How was it that no matter the circumstances, women of all ages seemed to swoon at Benton Fraser’s feet? Even grumpy civil servants whose lungs were coated with pre-cancerous polyps weren’t able to control themselves around him. Once he flashed that sparkling smile at them and they got a close-up look at his heartbreakingly beautiful blue eyes, they were his. 

She couldn’t blame them. His smile was beautiful and when he flashed it in your direction, you felt like you were on top of the world. And his eyes… the way they drooped ever so slightly when he was tired or concentrating on something which required all of his attention was the sexiest thing she had ever seen. This whole phenomenon was made more so by the fact that Fraser honestly had no idea how damn sexy he actually was.

Fraser immediately started sorting through the latest delivery of surveillance tapes. He had quickly deciphered the undecipherable codes they used to identify the location and time of each tape and was able to greatly narrow down the amount of video they would have to view.

“I guess we should get started with these tapes. It appears to be many hours of work.”

Just then, Thatcher’s phone started ringing. She brightened immediately. Perhaps it was Vecchio and they would get to pawn this tedious chore off on some underling while she and Fraser attended the autopsy.

It was with genuine disappointment when she recognized the phone number as belonging to the consulate.

“Thatcher, here … Oh ... yes … yes, I understand. … No, Turnbull, you aren’t in trouble. … Yes, I realize you didn’t know … Stop grovelling, Turnbull … I’ll be there as quickly as possible … Yes, I’ll go straight to the event. … Correct.”

She closed her phone with a sigh and turned to face Fraser who was frantically not listening to her conversation.

“That was Turnbull. It seems I can’t get out of the Mexican reception without causing an international incident … or so we’ve been told.” 

As she spoke, Thatcher started pulling on her red tunic and parka as she readied herself for the long walk back to her car.

“I’ll call Vecchio and have him send someone to pick you up for the autopsy.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer that I accompany you, Inspector? After all, I am the Deputy Liaison Officer … and perhaps, I could offer some assistance in dealing with the Consul General,” Fraser offered.

Thatcher noted an odd inflection in his voice. Was it possible that he was jealous of this self-described Mexican Don Juan? She had to suppress the smile that immediately wanted to jump to her lips. While she would actually love to have him on her arm at the afternoon’s event, the needs of the public outweighed her own personal problems. 

“That’s not necessary, Constable. Finding the killer is more important than my issues with my Mexican counterpart. I’ll be fine.”

“I was never worried about you, sir. It was the Consul General for whom I had concerns.”

* * *

As Ray trailed Lt Welsh across the room, he spied a towel lying on an empty desk and snagged it for himself. He immediately started trying to soak up the coffee which had already seeped into every nook and cranny he possessed. The worst part was the squish, squish, squish sound he made with every step he took. Absentmindedly, he looked down at the towel and noticed that it still had the price tag on it and immediately wondered how much Frannie was charging for it.

People sat in every available chair and many stood or sat on the floor. At every desk also sat a police officer asking them some preliminary questions. Each and every one of them had an identical expression of boredom on his face.

He followed Welsh into his office and immediately noticed that there was nowhere to sit. Ray figured someone had removed the lieutenant’s chairs to use for the interviews.

Ray was reminded of something he once read in the Sunday Funnies.

Doing a good job around here is like wetting your pants in a dark suit; you get a warm feeling, but nobody notices.

Well, the warm feeling had faded, quite literally, and he was starting to feel as cold as those swimmers in their wet bathing suits sitting out in the office. No wonder they paid out their noses for a cup of coffee.

“Okay, Vecchio. Care to enlighten me about what’s going on IN MY SQUAD ROOM?”

“Well, sir. You know about the body at the lake, right?”

“And how, exactly, would I know about that? Was it from the phone call I received from you before all these people started showing up IN MY SQUAD ROOM?”

“Ummm, no, sir. We were a little busy with the body and all and then, we, um, had to wait for the Inspector.”

“What inspector?”

“Inspector Thatcher, sir.”

“What do the Canadians have to do with any of this?” His voice was rising in volume.

“Fraser believes... well, actually, I do, too... that the woman is Canadian.”

“Of course, she’s Canadian. She’s the Canadian Consulate’s Liaison Officer.”

Vecchio’s brows knitted for an instant, before he realized Welsh’s mistake. “Oh, not that woman, sir. The dead woman. That is, the body is a woman. The dead body, that is.” He then inhaled deeply and clamped his mouth firmly shut, realizing that he was starting to babble.

Welsh was also breathing deeply and, with his eyes shut, appeared to be praying. He took a sip of his coffee and quickly pulled it away with an audible “bleh” sound. He swiftly dropped the cup into his trashcan. Unfortunately, Ray was standing next to that trashcan and the mostly full cup of cold coffee splashed out directly onto his pants. 

Given the option, Ray preferred being doused with hot coffee.

“Would you like me to get you another cup, Lieutenant?”

“No, Vecchio. I can’t afford it. So, tell me exactly what’s going on here, okay?”

“Yes, sir. You see when we arrived at the lake this morning…” 

Ray’s phone started ringing in his pocket, but the look on Welsh’s face told him that touching that phone would be detrimental to his career and possibly, his health. He let the call go to voicemail.

* * *

Thatcher walked out of the building with a smile on her face and a lightness to her gait. She and Fraser were getting along remarkably well. Before that rude Chicago driver interrupted their moment, she had already decided that she would not order Fraser to forget the kiss this time. In fact, she may even order him to remember the previous one on that runaway train.

It was with these thoughts that she stepped out of the tiny elevator and entered the sub-basement level of the darkened parking garage. As she rounded a corner, she gave a secret sigh of relief as she spotted her car at the other end of this row of vehicles. Despite the fact that she was a professional law enforcement officer, she was also a woman living alone in a crime-ridden American city. It would give any Canadian pause.

Thinking of crime reminded her that she needed to call Detective Vecchio to let him know that Fraser would need a ride to the Medical Examiner’s office.

She took off her gloves, pinning them under her armpit, and pulled out her small Nokia cell phone. She then dug in her pocket until she found the receipt with Vecchio’s number on it. Just as she had the number entered and pressed the icon of a green telephone handset, Thatcher suddenly heard screaming and loud clanking sounds coming from the stairwell. She dropped the phone back in her coat pocket just as a young blonde woman burst out of the stairwell door and ran directly toward her.

The woman was in her mid-twenties and wearing military fatigues and combat boots. She was shouting at the top of her lungs that there was a man chasing her. Seconds after the woman appeared, a man in black, wearing a ski mask and carrying a handgun, bolted through the door. He quickly started closing the distance between himself and the woman. Thatcher’s protective instincts kicked into overdrive. This was why she became a police officer, to protect the innocent.

Thatcher immediately started evaluating the situation. If she was back home in Canada, she would be armed and there would be no question as to how she would stop this man. However, she wasn’t allowed to have a weapon in the US, so shooting the bastard wasn’t an option. If there was one thing Meg Thatcher prided herself on, it was her ability to assimilate with the indigenous culture. Therefore, after moving here a year ago, she had immediately gone out and purchased the strongest canister of pepper spray legally available. It was currently on her keyring. She quickly aimed it at the assailant and took a defensive stance, waiting for the woman to get clear of her line of fire.

However, the woman in her frantic hysteria, ploughed directly into Thatcher and knocked the pepper spray from her hands. 

She grabbed onto the mountie’s lapels and keened, “Help me! Please, you’ve got to save me from him. He’s going to kill me!”

Thatcher quickly pushed the young woman behind her and positioned herself between the woman and the masked man with the gun. Just then, she heard a faint voice coming from her coat pocket. It was Vecchio. She dared not react for the fear of what the armed man would do. Hopefully, he would hear what was happening and quickly send help.

With renewed confidence that help was on the way, Thatcher said loudly enough for the detective to hear, “Stop where you are. I am a police officer and you are making a grave mistake.”

The man stopped and tilted his hand to the side. She could see a wide grin slowly spread across his face through the cutouts on the mask and a feeling of dread passed through her when she thought she recognized that condescending smirk.

In confirmation of her suspicions, he ripped off the mask and despite herself, Thatcher gasped loudly when she saw Randal K. Bolt standing in front of her. Randal K. Bolt, self-described anarchist and twice convicted terrorist, stood in front of her with his pencil thin mustache and stringy gray ponytail. 

“Bolt! You escaped from prison … again?”

Hadn’t they just gone through this in the fall when he tried to blow up Fraser and Vecchio, along with the an entire courthouse, including a federal judge?

“That’s right, babe. I’m back again for the second time”, he spouted with maniacal glee. “Y’see the last time I had my revenge focused on the wrong law enforcement officials. Now, I’m going to get it right. You see, all of my problems can be traced directly back to Canada. So if I can just get rid of the Canadians...”

“You’re insane, Randal Bolt,” she said in a raised voice to alert Vecchio in case he hadn’t heard her the first time.

“Maybe … but at least I’m conscious.”

With that, Thatcher felt a sharp stabbing pain in her back of her neck. An instant later, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed unconscious to the hard concrete parking deck.

The blonde “victim” giggled loudly as she held up an empty hypodermic needle, showing it to Bolt. Then, she reached down and picked Thatcher’s fur cap off the mountie’s head and placed it on her own.

“I’d be careful of that if I were you, buttercup. I did a lot of research on the Mounties while I was incarcerated. Those winter caps are made out of muskrat fur.

“Buttercup” shrugged nonchalantly and spun around slowly in a circle, singing as she turned.

“Muskrat Susie, Muskrat Sam… do the jitterbug out in Muskrat land…”

Bolt effortlessly scooped the limp Thatcher into his arms and carried her towards a white panel van. 

He called back over his shoulder to the singing blonde, “Alright, alright, enough fooling around. Let’s get these clothes off her. I’ve got the feeling that Sam’s going to be a little harder to catch than Susie, here.”

The little blonde trailed flightily along behind Bolt. “Did you know that Captain and Tennille chose Muskrat Love to sing at a White House dinner honoring the Queen? True fact.”

“Oh God,” thought Bolt, “this blonde’s nuttier than the last one.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hopefully, you can now see where I’m going with this and I hope you like it.
> 
> Please, Please, Please… if you’re out there and you’re reading this, let me know by throwing me a review.


	4. Chapter 4

After thoroughly explaining the morning’s events to Lt Welsh, the older man rubbed his large hand over his face in a move of complete frustration. 

“Sooo, Vecchio? What’s your POA?”

“My POA?”

“Plan of Action. You’re the detective in charge. This is what you’ve been waiting fo. So what's your next move?"

This is it, Ray. Don't blow your big chance.

"Right," Vecchio started nervously, "Oh... well, the officers out there have the preliminary info and we'll start questioning them one by one until we can piece together what happened. We're going to concentrate on the two guys who cut out the hole first, and then work our way through the swimmers. One of them must have cut the rope and I'm confident that we'll find him. Fraser's down at the Port Authority going through video tapes to see if he can spot when the body was dumped. And I'll meet up with him at the ME's office this afternoon for the autopsy." 

“Do you think the vic is really Canadian?”

“To be honest, Lieutenant, I think it’s a little far fetched, but Fraser has some freaky instincts when it comes to these things.” Ray inhaled deeply. That went better than he thought and he didn't think he sounded like a complete idiot.

Welsh nodded slowly as Vecchio finished. Hmmm, he didn't sound like a complete idiot.

"Alright, Vecchio. You seem to have this well in hand. I'll give you all the resources we've got. Right now, this case is our top priority." Of course, a big part of that was because no one was committing any crimes since it was so damn cold, but Vecchio didn't need to know that.

"Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it," Ray replied with more enthusiasm than he normally expressed.

Welsh had already put on his reading glasses and was going back to his weekly reports which were due at the end of the day. Bad weather or not, those reports never stopped.

Ray had his hand on the door when Welsh called out to him.

"Oh, and Vecchio?" He removed his glasses and used them as a pointer to motion to Ray's ruined clothes. "Go down to Booking and get yourself some dry clothes before you catch your death."

"Yes, sir."

"And tell Francesca I need a new cup of coffee."

"Right away, Lieutenant. And this one's on me." Immediately, he realized how that sounded and amended, "But not, literally. I mean I’ll pay for it."

“Yeah. I got that.”

* * *

Fraser rubbed his tired eyes as he pulled another tape from the VHS machine and carefully placed it in the large cardboard box on the floor. He had been watching the video footage of the same tiny section of beach for the past two hours. As dedicated as he was, even Fraser was starting to run down.

He stood quickly and executed ten jumping jacks, followed quickly by ten push ups. His heart rate boosted, he felt his energy renewed and he eagerly picked the next tape out of the box.

The sharp-eyed mountie watched the footage at four times normal speed. He was just about to eject the tape and move on to the next one when he saw a flicker on the television. Benton immediately switched to normal speed and sat, mesmerized by the action playing out on the small screen. 

The tape was recorded seven days ago at three o’clock in the morning, but the full moon and the white snow covering the lake made the screen as bright as mid-day. It was almost as cold then as it was now. Therefore, it was with little surprise when Benton saw two heavily bundled figures slowly trudging out onto the frozen lake. From the way two people moved, Fraser presumed that the larger was a man and the smaller was a woman.

They dragged a tarped-covered sled between them. Even though the black and white footage was quite grainy, he could make out when the man removed a chainsaw from the sled and immediately started cutting through the ice. 

What proceeded next was exactly what Ray and Benton had surmised. The woman uncovered the sled while the man worked on cutting the hole. Although he was expecting it, Benton inhaled sharply when he saw the nude, pale body lying exposed on the sled. She then took a large coil of rope and tied it around one leg of the body. The other end of the rope was secured to two round objects which Benton thought looked like the weights from a barbell set. 

This hole didn’t need to be as large as the one for the Polar Bear Club, so the man was able to make quick work of it. Once a square was cut in the ice, they worked together to remove the block, revealing the icy water beneath. They dropped the body next to the hole. Then the man heaved the weights and dropped them into the hole, followed quickly by the body which appeared to be stiff with rigor mortis. 

That was something, at least. If rigor mortis had already set in, then Benton could assume that the bullets killed her and the unfortunate victim didn’t have to suffer a drowning death, trapped under a frozen lake.

The two individuals shoved the ice block back into the hole, effectively capping it off and resealing it. Benton squinted closely at the screen at what he saw next. The man removed something from his coat pocket --- a can of spray paint. He painted a large circle around the opening, thereby marking the spot … for someone.

Benton was anxious to relay this information to Ray. His finger hovered over the stop button when he glanced back at the screen and paused. The woman folded up the tarp, preparing to leave. The man had obviously become overheated during the exertions of their macabre endeavour. He unzipped his large coat, removed the scarf covering his face and the watch cap covering his head. Even with the distance and grainy pixelated black and white footage, Fraser could easily recognize the distinctive goatee and wispy white hair pulled into a tuft of a ponytail. 

It was Randal K. Bolt. 

Benton ejected the tape, grabbed his discarded uniform items and ran out to find Sophia. He needed to call Ray immediately.

* * *

Vecchio reentered the squad room, hoping the chaos would have righted itself while he was gone. As instructed by Welsh, he had reported to Booking in the basement of the building for some ‘new’ clothes. 

Working with some of the less reputable strata of society meant that they weren’t always proper attired when they arrived at the station. It also meant that sometimes they weren’t dressed at all. Therefore, Booking maintained a box of donated clothes to help out these poor souls. Unfortunately for Ray, the clothing choices looked like Salvation Army rejects. 

So here he was, surveying the anarchy of his first big case while wearing a bright pink satin warm-up suit. The guy in Booking swore it was a man’s suit and since it was the only thing that came anywhere close to fitting him, he went with it. The footwear choices were even worse than the clothing. That’s why he was currently wearing a pair of python zippered ankle pimp boots. He looked like Liberace after a rough night of drinking way too many mojitoes.

“Ray!” Elaine Besbriss, the Civilian Aid, grabbed Vecchio as he exited Welsh’s office. She did a double take after looking at him and whispered, “What happened to you?” Quickly followed by, “Nevermind.” and “Try to look a little more manly because you really need to talk to these two guys I found.”

She tugged over to her desk, which was tucked away in a corner of the large room. Two burly men sat with identical looks of fatigue on their faces.

“Gentleman. This is Detective Vecchio, the detective in charge of this case.”

“Ray, this is Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones.” At Vecchio’s look of amusement, she added, “No, seriously. I checked their ID’s. That’s their real names.”

“Hey, when can we get out of here?” asked Jones.

“Yeah, we didn’t do nuttin’ wrong,” added Smith.

“We’ll just see about that,” Vecchio said with authority. 

Ray stood up a little taller and broader than he would normally, unconsciously trying to compensate for his smaller stature and ridiculous attire. Smith and Jones were at least three inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than he. And they weren’t wearing pink satin.

“Okay, guys. Tell Detective Vecchio what you told me,” prompted Elaine.

“A-ight. Like we already told the chick,” started Jones, “this suit paid us 500 bucks to cut that hole in the ice, but only if we could get it in exactly the right spot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” added Smith, “and he only gave us half up front. Dude still owes us like a hundred more, right?” He was counting on his fingers and seemed to get lost when his third finger went up.

“$250,” Elaine, Ray and Jones said in unison.

“Oh, well, anyway,” Smith said as he took up the narrative, “so we trudge out onto the lake this morning at 6AM with a rake and a snow shovel. See, the dude said we had to cut at the spot marked with this bright orange spray paint. ‘Cept it’s been snowin’ for like whole damn winter. Am I right?”

The other nodded in silent agreement.

Jones apparently didn’t like Smith’s delivery of the events, so he took over.

“You’re right, Jimmy. The suit, he gave us an approximate area to search, but we had to rake and shovel and sweep. Hell, I’m not sure this job was worth $500 … and that was before a God damned dead woman popped outta tha water.”

“What did he look like, this ‘suit’?” Ray asked.

“Kinda like you, man,” Smith answered.

Ray self consciously looked down at his clothes and the man amended himself.

“No, no. He weren’t no queer.” At Ray’s angry reaction, Jones corrected himself. “No offense, man. I got a couple of cousins on my ma’s side like you. Nicest guys you’ll ever meet. Real good at decoratin’. You know what I mean? Anyway, I just mean he was scrawny like you, but shorter.”

“Yeah, and kinda nerdy, you know. Like them,” Smith pointed out to the bullpen where fully one third of the people there were wearing dark suits and did look kinda nerdy.

“Lawyers…” Ray murmured. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it. He looked like a lawyer from some TV cop show.”

Vecchio hopped up and started surveying the room.

“Elaine, where’s the list of people we pulled in this morning?”

Elaine quickly handed him a clipboard full of names.

“What was that guy’s name?” Ray said to himself as he scanned the list of names. “Ray, Rayney, Rainer. Rainer! That was it. But I don’t see it on this list. Are you sure you got everybody?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Damn it. I bet that guy snuck away and didn’t come in.” Looking back at Elaine, he said. “Talk to Dispatch; I need the call sheet from this morning. That guy called here with a report about these nuts swimming in the lake. Find that report; find the audio if you can.”

“Got it.” Elaine hurried off on her assignment. 

Ray knew Elaine wanted to be a sworn officer and he knew she would be a great one, but damn, she was the finest Civilian Aid he had ever seen. Just then, Francesca walked by handing out towels and collecting twenty dollar bills. Ray shook his head sadly.

Turning back to the two men, Vecchio added, “Alright, you two. I need you to repeat everything you just said to Officer …” Vecchio looked around until he spotted a nearby uniformed officer who wasn’t being pummeled by angry citizens. “... Ignatius. Joe, take these guys to Interview Room One and get their full statements.”

“Again?” complained Jones. “We already told it twice! We got jobs to get to, man.”

Vecchio had started to walk away, but turned sharply on his borrowed pimp boots. “Oh yeah, well, I got a murderer to find and he probably paid you to dig that hole, so unless you want to be charged with conspiracy…”

The two men suddenly looked very cooperative. 

Smith said, “We’re goin’, we’re goin’, but I think we want to talk to a lawyer first.”

At least twenty-five people jumped to their feet, whipping out their business cards as if they were ninja throwing stars.

* * *

Elaine quickly came back with the audio tape with Rainer’s call on it.

“You’re an angel, Elaine,” Ray said with a smile.

“Yeah, just tell that to the police academy. Maybe they’ll let me in.”

Elaine’s application for the Police Academy had been accepted with flying colors. This was why Francesca was applying for the anticipated opening for a Civilian Aid. Elaine was now just waiting for a spot to open in the competitive school. 

Vecchio and Elaine found an empty interview room and listened to the call.

_Chicago Police, 27th Precinct, Sergeant Kowalski speaking._

_Is this the precinct where Ray Vecchio works with that Canadian mountie?_

_Yes, it is sir. May I have your name and phone number?_

_Uhh, it’s Thomas Rainer and it’s 312-555-1234._

_Thank you, sir. Would you like me connect you, Mr. Rainer?_

_No, I need him and Constable Fraser to come down to Oak Street Beach as soon as they can._

_What seems to be the problem?_

_These crazy people are about to jump in Lake Michigan. Somebody might die._

_Okay. We’ll get them out there ASAP, sir._

~click~

Ray slowly reached out a finger and pressed the stop button on the portable cassette player. He then looked at Elaine and saw an open expression of worry on her face. He knew it matched his own.

“Why did he ask for me and Fraser specifically?” Ray asked rhetorically.

“This is starting to sound a little creepy, Ray,” Elaine said as she ejected the tape and slipped it into a plastic bag.

“Yeah, yeah it is. We need to find this Rainer guy.”

Just then, Huey poked his head in the room. 

“We got an address on this lawyer guy. You want Dewey and me to check it out?”

“No. I want to be the one who talks to Rainer.”

Huey handed him a slip of paper and Ray read the address. 

“Nice neighborhood,” Ray said to himself. Looking back up at Huey he said, “We still need to figure out who cut that rope. You two interview the swimmers and see who was in the water when the body popped up. They all seem to know each other; see if there’s anyone here who they didn’t know … anyone suspicious.”

“Got it!” Huey said as Ray hurried past him and toward the door and his temperamental Riv.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

As Vecchio ran out the front door of the 27th Precinct, Officer Mike Landry was bent over his psychology textbook in the basement of that very same building. He was enrolled in an accelerated bachelor degree program at night school. He didn’t want to be trapped in this basement for his whole career. He wanted to be a lawyer because he heard that’s where the big bucks were. The cadre of suited men and women currently camped out up on the third floor would tend to disagree with him.

 

The young officer paused a minute and looked around the room. Studies showed that when the temperature heated up, crime rates skyrocketed. Most crimes took place during heatwaves. Well, judging by how dead it was around here, the opposite was also true. When it was cold, especially as cold as it was today, no one broke the law. In fact, the only human being he had seen all day was Ray Vecchio from Violent Crimes.

 

Mike chuckled to himself, remembering how the detective looked when he left. From the feet up, Vecchio looked like his maiden Aunt Sally on grocery day. And his shoes… Mike didn’t have the nerve to tell Vecchio that those shoes belonged to Leroy Brown, the most famous pimp to ever die … right here at the 27th. Bad Bad Leroy Brown, as he was known, was as mean as a junkyard dog. While he was in Holding Cell #3 awaiting an arraignment hearing, Brown had a run-in with an angry man with a switchblade. The man claimed Brown took liberties with his wife. Brown should have known to stay away from the wife of a jealous man. When the husband was finished with him, Brown looked like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone. It had taken a week to clean up all the blood. A pair of man’s python zip boots had been left behind. No one was sure if the boots belonged to Brown or the husband, but they were never claimed. The husband was currently serving a lifetime sentence in Cook County jail.

 

He sighed to himself as he once again began reading about Serial Killers and the Media. Two paragraphs in and a faint beeping sound interrupted his concentration. The noise was coming from Holding Cell #1 and Mike put down his book to go and investigate.

 

Holding Cell #1 was where Vecchio changed clothes and Mike was quickly able to locate the source of the noise. It was coming from the floor on the other side of the small cot against the back wall. Moving the cot over, Mike found a cell phone lying on the cold concrete floor. By the time he reached it, the phone had stopped ringing.

 

The phone must have fallen out of Vecchio’s pocket. Since Mike was the only officer on duty here in The Pits, as the basement was called, he couldn’t leave to go deliver it. He’d call up to Violent Crimes. Who knew? If he was lucky maybe that cute Civilian Aid, Elaine, would come down to pick it up.

 

*      *      *

 

“27th Precinct, Elaine Besbriss, Civilian Aid, but hopefully not for much longer, speaking. May I help you?”

 

“Elaine? This is Constable Fraser.”

 

“Fraser...” her voice softened and a smile came to her lips just thinking about the hunky mountie.

 

“Um, yes.” The tone of her voice made him instantly nervous. What was it with the women in this city?

 

Fraser continued, “I need to speak to Ray. I tried his cell phone, but he didn’t pick up.”

 

“You wouldn’t believe what’s going on here. Ray went to question some lawyer that you two met this morning.” Elaine quickly summarized what happened with the chainsaw guys and the audio recording of Rainer from this morning.

 

“That actually makes a lot of sense when you include the information I discovered from watching the surveillance tapes. I believe that Randal Bolt is behind this.”

 

“Randal Bolt? Isn’t he locked up at ADX Florence?”

 

ADX Florence was the supermax prison in Fremont County, Colorado. It held the most dangerous male inmates in need of the tightest control possible. After Bolt’s recapture and swift conviction on multiple charges of murder, attempted murder (including the attempted murder of a sitting federal judge), kidnapping (including kidnapping of that same federal judge), possession and transportation of explosives with intent to commit a felony, hijacking, forty-two counts of assault, and one of attempting to overthrow the United States government, he had been sentenced to life imprisonment without possibility of parole. That sentence was be carried out at ADX Florence.

 

“I have reason to believe he may have escaped and was in Chicago as long as seven days ago.”

 

“No one escapes from a federal supermax prison, Fraser. No one. I did research on ADX in preparation for the police academy entrance exam. Those guys are in solitary confinement twenty-three hours a day. It’s impossible to escape from there,” Elaine stated with the confidence of a rookie law enforcement officer.

 

“Be that as it may, would you be so kind as to give them a call just to be on the safe side?” Fraser asked in his most polite voice.

 

“For you, Fraser ... I’d do anything,” she cooed.

 

“And would it be too much trouble to radio Ray and have him pick me up? I’ll be waiting outside.”

 

“No trouble. He hasn’t been gone long and he’d probably appreciate the company.”

 

“Thank you kindly, Elaine.”

 

*      *      *

 

The Italian detective pounded loudly on Rainer’s door and announced in his most authoritative voice (one which was not currently wearing a satin warm-up suit and python zip boots), “Rainer! It’s one of your favorite cops. Open up.”

 

This place wasn’t made with paper-thin walls like Fraser’s building, so even if Rainer was inside doing a tap dancing routine while banging on a brass drum, Ray wouldn’t have been able to hear him.

 

He waited fifteen seconds and tried again, standing to the side of the door, just in case he had misjudged Rainer. He didn’t want to get shot through a closed door.

 

That was it. Two tries was all anyone got. He motioned down the hall and the hunched over elderly building manager toddled down to him with the master key. Vecchio had him wait down the hall for safety’s sake.

 

“I can’t imagine what Mr. Rainer could have done wrong. He’s the nicest tenant I have. Quiet and respectful.”

 

“Yeah? Well, it’s always the quiet ones you havta watch out for.”

 

The old man opened the door and Vecchio told him to scram, for his own safety, of course. Vecchio slowly entered the apartment. It was completely dark and Ray wished he had taken the Duck boys up on their offer. This was the worse part of being a cop. He also wished Fraser was here. Not only was he Ray’s best friend, but he seemed to be a magnet for trouble which was helpful when you were standing next to him. In all likelihood if something bad happened, it usually happened to Fraser and not to him.

 

He flipped on the wall switch and saw immediately why Rainer had not answered the door. He was sitting in an upholstered chair in the middle of the room, as still as death itself. Of course, the fact that he was, indeed, dead was probably a contributing factor. Thomas Rainer, Attorney, had a bullet hole right between his eyes, which were wide open, by the way.

 

“Damn!” exclaimed Ray as he reached for his phone to call in the homicide. He had just lost his only lead. He felt around in all of his pockets and discovered he had also just lost his cell phone.

 

He’d have to do this the old-fashioned way. Taking out a handkerchief, which his mother always insisted he carry, he used it to pick up Rainer’s wall phone so he wouldn’t contaminate it with his prints. While he was waiting for the call to connect, Vecchio’s eyes wandered to a nearby side table where some framed photographs sat. His eyes were immediately drawn to a picture of a pretty young woman with long blonde hair. There were actually quite a few pictures of her at various stages of her life. Admittedly, she had changed a lot since dying, but Ray was almost certain this was the dead woman who had started this whole day by popping out of the lake this morning. Rainer was with her in most of the shots and judging by the slight physical resemblance, Ray had to guess that the dead woman was Rainer’s younger sister.

 

*      *      *

 

Benton Fraser was Canadian, through and through. He grew up in the Northwest Territories and was conceived in an igloo, according to his father, the ghost. So cold did not bother him. What did bother him was not fully understanding a complex case and having the distinct feeling that he was missing something.

 

Therefore as he stood on the sidewalk in front of the Port Authority, it should have come as no surprise when his father appeared next to him as so often happened when he had something on his mind.

 

“Afternoon, son.”

 

Fraser glanced over at the older mountie, noting that he, too, was wearing the very warm muskrat cap.

 

“Oh hello, Dad.”

 

“Something’s not right here.”

 

“Yes, Dad. I’ve been saying that for almost two years now.”

 

“Two years, you say? What a coincidence, I believe I’ve been visiting you for about two years.”

 

Fraser turned to look pointedly at his father, but said nothing. Just then, down the street, he saw a figure turn the corner and disappear. Even though he only caught a glimpse, the figure was definitely wearing a muskrat cap and RCMP winter parka.

 

“Did you see that?” Fraser asked, not expecting an answer as he started off down the street.

 

“I don’t think that’s a wise idea, son,” the older Fraser shouted as his son turned the corner and also disappeared.

 

Just as he rounded the corner, he saw the inspector about halfway down the block heading toward a large industrial building. There were many buildings like this one down near the waterfront.

 

“Inspector!” Fraser called out to her, but she ignored him and entered the building.

 

Puzzled and worried at the same time, Fraser followed her inside. The interior of the building was dim and it took a few seconds for Fraser’s eyes to adjust. He found himself inside a huge warehouse with stacks and stacks of storage containers as far as the eye could see, many stacked three high. These containers were a common site on Lake Michigan. Known as intermodal containers, or Conex boxes, they could be loaded with goods and transported via ship or train and then placed directly on tractor trailer trucks to be delivered to their final destinations. Fraser greatly admired the simplicity of the design and operation.

 

However, today he wasn’t thinking about interstate transportation. Today he was extremely concerned about one Margaret Thatcher.

 

“Inspector Thatcher!”

 

Fraser’s voice echoed through the cavernous space and eventually died away. The building appeared to be completely deserted, which made sense considering that 90 percent of the lake was iced over. These must be empty containers waiting to be traded for full ones once the lake thaws.

 

He was about to try again when he heard her voice.

 

“Benton! Help me.”

 

Quickly, Fraser pinpointed the direction and turned toward it only to have his father appear out of nowhere and block his path.

 

“Dad!” Fraser said in exasperation. “Move out of my way.”

 

“Something’s not right, son,” his father warned.

 

“Of course it isn’t right. The woman I … the woman I work for,” he corrected himself, “is in trouble and I need to find her.”

 

Bob Fraser nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s true, but when have you ever heard her call you Benton?”

 

“I … never, but that doesn’t change anything. Now move out of my way!”

 

The elder Fraser didn’t move and Benton walked right through him.

 

Benton ran down a row of containers and turned left just in time to see her turn right about 400 meters ahead of him. When he reached that intersection, he caught sight of the Inspector disappearing down yet another row. As this chase continued, she continued to call his name. Eventually, even Fraser with his sense of direction, he was hopelessly lost.

 

And he couldn’t see her anymore.

 

“Inspector, can you tell me where you are?”

 

“Benton! Help me!”

 

He took the row to his right and kept stopping and listening as he was sure he was drawing closer to her voice. In the middle of a seemingly endless line of storage containers was one container that looked just like all the others, except that its large door was open, just a crack, and a faint light shown through it.

 

Fraser quickly approached the door.

 

“Benton! Help me!”

 

He pushed directly through his father, who was once again trying to block his way, and entered the container. The interior was very dim, lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. He was drawn instantly to a portable cassette player lying in the center of the container. Thatcher’s voice was playing on an endless loop. He slowly walked over to it, noting that the metal flooring of the container was wet, as if someone had recently hosed it down.  Fraser pushed stop just as the container door behind him slammed shut.

 

“I told you so,” his father said needlessly.

 

Fraser ran back to the door and felt around for a handle or knob or some way to open it. He was just about to start banging on the door in frustration when he heard a noise from the other end of the container. A small figure lay curled up in the far corner. Fraser approached slowly. It was so dim with the door closed that he was forced to squint to make out anything in the room. At first it looked like a large white dog and immediate visions of Diefenbaker sprang to mind. He quickly shook that away and realized that his beloved wolf was still at the warm police station probably mooching food off of Elaine. He also discounted the Diefenbaker theory when he realized there was no fur on this creature. He briefly considered a white seal, but taking another step closer removed that possibility from his list. Finally, the figure became clear and he instantly forgot all about being careful and the fact he had obviously walked into a trap.

 

For there curled up on the cold metal floor was a pale, naked, and soaking wet Margaret Thatcher.

 

TBC

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t help but put in the references to the late, great Jim Croce’s song, “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown”. After all, he was from the south side of Chicago. 
> 
> Finally… my goodness it took forever to get to this point.   
> I sincerely hope someone besides me is reading this.  
> If you are, please take the time to let me know what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

For there curled up on the cold metal floor was a pale, naked, and soaking wet Margaret Thatcher.

Fraser ran to her side, dropping to his knees on the wet metal floor. 

“Inspector, Inspector. It’s Constable Fraser, ma’am.”

He reached out and tentatively touched her shoulder, knowing that always she didn’t appreciate personal contact. Fraser withdrew his hand immediately. She was ice cold and shivering uncontrollably.

From his training in the RCMP and his own personal experience, Fraser knew that hypothermia occurred when the body’s core temperature fell below 35 ºC. One of the early signs was uncontrollable shivering. Shivering was the body’s natural way to raise its temperature by rapidly expanding and contracting the muscles. This, in turn, created energy which raised the body’s temperature. 

Her lips were blue and she looked like she was having problems focusing on him.

Fraser immediately took off his parka and tried to lift her head to help her into it.

“Can you sit up, ma’am? You need to put on my coat. It will help until we can get out of here.”

She blinked several times and seemed to notice him for the first time.

“Fraser? You came,” she mumbled. Her speech was distinctly slurred. 

He helped her to a sitting position and was horrified to see that her hair was partially frozen to the floor. There were tiny ice crystals throughout her dark strands and under different circumstances, it would have been quite lovely.

“Here, lift your arms,” he directed.

It was like dressing a child. She complied obediently which was most uncharacteristic of the strong-willed RCMP Inspector who ruled her consulate with an iron fist. This behavior greatly worried Fraser. He was also worried by the fact that he was having an incredibly difficult time ignoring the roundness of her breasts as she lifted her arms to slip them into the sleeves of his large parka. Now was not the time for such selfishness.

After she had both arms in the parka, Thatcher came out of her stupor and pulled the coat closed around her. She looked around the room, seeming to take stock of their location. Her eyes filled with horror and she grasped onto Fraser’s arms with surprising strength.

“Noooo…,” she whispered frantically, “You moron, you haven’t saved me. All you’ve managed to do to get yourself trapped with me.”

While it was heartening to hear her call him moron, Fraser knew this wasn’t the time to bask in the fond memories this evoked. Trying to sound as calm as he possibly could, he replied smoothly, “I know, ma’am, but it’s going to be alright. We’ll get out.”

She stared up at the ceiling and hissed warningly, “Shh, you need to whisper, Fraser. If we’re too loud…”

Just then the large door creaked open and Thatcher reacted in a very un-Thatcher like way. Fraser would have expected her to jump to her feet and lead the two of them in a well-orchestrated attack against their captor. Instead, she backed against the wall and stared expectantly at the door.

Fraser jumped to his feet, ready to face his adversary and save the day as he had done numerous times during his lifetime.

“Step back, Constable Fraser,” a familiar voice intoned dramatically. “All the way until your back hits the wall, then sit down. Just like our obedient little Inspector Thatcher there. She knows the rules. Right, sweetie?”

Thatcher didn’t respond to his jab, but Fraser thought he saw her flinch when he said her name.

Randal Bolt stepped into the room, holding a 9mm Glock handgun out in front of him. He was wearing a large winter coat and a bright red tuque on his head. Fraser noted to himself that each time he had encountered this man he had shown a odd preference for a particular type of head covering. On the train he wore a beret; in the courthouse it was a bandana tied around his forehead; and now it seemed he had developed an interest in French-Canadian nationalism.

Fraser did as he was told and sat down on the wet metal floor next to the inspector. She looked so small and helpless that he longed to hold her in his arms, but knew that would probably get them both killed. 

If there was one thing that was predictable about Randal Bolt, it was his unpredictability.

“What’s the word, hummingbird?”, Bolt chirped goodnaturedly. Then, he became instantly serious and addressed Thatcher, “Now, inspector, if you would be so kind as to join me.” He pointed the gun directly at her.

When she didn’t move, he screamed at her. “Get! Over! Here! Now!”

Thatcher stood slowly, appearing for all intents and purposes to be much older than her actual years. At least the oversized parka gave her some modesty as it came to just above her knees.

“Faster!”

“Inspector Thatcher is suffering from the effects of hypothermia. It is difficult for her to move.”

Bolt swung the pistol to Fraser. “Well… thank you kindly, Mr. Mountie,” he said sarcastically, “but I don’t need your help right now.”

Thatcher got to her feet and stumbled toward Bolt who met her halfway and dragged her back to the center of the room. He held onto her tightly and pushed the gun into her temple. 

Then he called over his shoulder and shouted, “Anytime now, Hazel.”

A small blonde wearing Thatcher’s uniform popped through the door.

Bolt motioned with the weapon. “Go on,” he urged.

She ran out into the middle of the floor and retrieved the tape player. She then, quickly tossed it out of the door and returned.

“You Canadians are a resourceful lot and we wouldn’t want to give you any false hope that there might be a way to get out of here. Who knows? You might have been able to fashion a small explosive device from one of those.” He then laughed maniacally into Thatcher ear. She turned her head away from him as far as she could.

“What do you want, Bolt? Ransom money? A helicopter?”

“Funny, that’s the same thing your lovely little inspector asked me when she first got here. And I have to add that she sounded much more in charge than you do now, my boy, … and she was naked at the time,” he added with a leer and a rough squeeze to Thatcher’s waist.

“Speaking of which,” Bolt motioned with his chin toward his assistant and continued, “collect his uniform. We don’t want Sam to have an unfair advantage over Susie. Now do we?”

He pushed the pistol further into Thatcher’s temple and commanded the Mountie, “Strip!”

His voice boomed off of the walls and Thatcher whimpered in response.

Seeing no other way out, Fraser began to slowly disrobe while the blonde leered at him and licked her lips. Adding to his humiliation, Bolt began humming a familiar tune.

“Da-daa, da, daaaa, da-daa, da, da, daaaa…”

The little blonde brightened immediately and turned to Bolt.

“Did you know that the song, ‘The Stripper’, was composed by David Rose in 1958, but it wasn’t released until four years later? And that was only by chance.”  
The Mountie started by removing his Sam Browne belt and white lanyard.

“Hazel, pause for a second on your incredibly interesting history of a burlesque song and pop over there to personally retrieve the items as he removes them. Once again, we don’t want those handy Canadians to use that leather belt to built some sort of device to aid them in their escape, now do we?”

“Sure, Randy. No prob,” Hazel chirped as she ‘popped’ over to Fraser and began receiving his uniform items as quickly as he removed them.

“So anyway, where was I?” she asked no one in particular. 

“I believe you were telling us how the release of the song, ‘The Stripper’, was only by luck,” Fraser provided politely. He briefly considered overpowering the small woman and using her as leverage against Bolt. However, he remembered how Bolt had heartlessly murdered his own accomplices on the train and decided he didn’t want to put Hazel in that position.

“Thank you,” said Hazel, “you’re very polite. So anyway, in 1962 he recorded a song for the A-side of a 45. Well, MGM wanted to release it quickly, so they needed something for side B.”

“Pick up the pace, Mountie, we don’t have all day. Hazel and I have a plane to catch.”

He sat down on the cold floor to remove his riding boots or his high browns. 

“Make sure you get those laces, Hazel,” directed Bolt.

“Huh?” Hazel was slow to respond as she was entranced by the spectacle of the disrobing Mountie.

“The laces. He could kill both of us with those before we even blinked.”

“I believe,” said Fraser, and he returned to standing and handed Hazel his boots and socks, “that garroting one’s opponents would be more your style, not mine, Bolt.”

“Get on with it!” Bolt was starting to tire of this escapade.

“Right,” Hazel replied, thinking he was speaking to her. “So, Rose was out of town and MGM sent some office boy to pick something out.”

Fraser removed his riding breeches which left him standing only in his red union suit. He passed them to Hazel, who was starting to salivate.

Fraser then turned to Bolt. “Also, I believe you will find that the airports are all closed due to the unprecedented snow and frigid temperatures.”

“Oh,” Bolt said tightly. “Then we’ll take a bus or a car… but not a train,” he added with a smile. “I don’t think those was safe.”

Fraser sighed and peeled off the union suit which he left him in a pair of crisply starched white cotton boxer shorts. He was definitely feeling the cold now and could not imagine how the inspector must be feeling. He didn’t know how long she had been here, but he had been alone viewing video tapes for over two hours. Plus, she was soaking wet which brought an added danger to hypothermia.

Fraser looked away from the insane terrorist and back to his current number one fan. “Please, Hazel, finish your story. I’d love to hear how it ends before … whatever happens next.”

Hazel was staring openly at his well-muscled smooth chest, oblivious to the many scars which graced his upper body. 

“Wha… oh, let’s see… so, the office boy listened to loads of recordings and liked ‘The Stripper’ and voilà! The song hit number one on the Billboard Hot 100. True fact.”

She spun around to face Bolt as she finished her story and Fraser took this opportunity to push his boxers down as quickly as possible. He bunched them up in his hands, using them to provide the only bit of dignity he had left.

“Now, now, now, Mr. Mountie. That won’t do. Hazel is waiting. Hand them over.” Bolt punctuated his words by twisting the pistol’s barrel against Thatcher’s head for emphasis.

Fraser swallowed hard and saw Inspector Thatcher squeeze her eyes shut. With all the dignity he could muster, he handed the boxers over to Hazel who received them with a wide smile and a cocked brow.

“Good,” stated Bolt. “Now we can move on.” He viciously ripped Fraser’s coat off of Thatcher and shoved her directly at Fraser who automatically grabbed her to prevent her from falling to the floor. 

She pulled away from him as soon as she could and stood awkwardly off to Fraser’s side. One hand automatically went to the juncture between her legs and the other she used to try and cover both of her breasts. Fraser purposely refused to look in her direction.

“Alright, Hazel. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Fraser’s eyes grew wide with worry.

“Wait, what do you want? Don’t you want me to call the police or the press? Wouldn’t you like the publicity with all the television stations broadcasting your demands to the world?” Fraser sounded desperate, but he didn’t care. Inspector Thatcher needed medical attention now.

Bolt turned back to him slowly.

“What do I want?”, he asked rhetorically. “I want you to die. Period. And what better way for two Canadian mounties to die than to freeze to death.”

Hazel scooted out the door. Fraser watched her leave and was shocked to see his dad standing by the door. 

“Sorry, son, but it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to be here with you and your inspector in her current state of undress. I hope you understand.” He followed Hazel out the door.

Bolt followed after them, but poked his head back in briefly. 

“Oh, and just so you know, I turned off my creative little device when came in, but it’s back on now.”

With that, he slammed his hand on the metal wall with a loud clank. Thatcher immediately abandoned her efforts to cover herself and latched tightly onto Fraser. Surprised by her reaction, he, nonetheless, wrapped his arms around her cold body just as the overhead sprinklers started raining ice water down on them.

TBC

Author’s Notes: Here’s where I try to explain some of the more goofy and obscure references in this chapter. Oh, and to beg for reviews.

“What’s the word, hummingbird?”   
-During Red, White or Blue, Bolt said “What’s the story, morning glory?”  
That’s a line from the Bye, Bye Birdie song where they’re all gossiping on the telephone. It’s also a song by the British group Oasis, but I decided to go with the Bye, Bye Birdie reference. My signature line for Bolt is the second line in the song, the one referencing a hummingbird.

Tuque - according to Wikipedia that’s what Canadians call watch caps or knit caps. And red tuques were worn by French-Canadian separatists in the 1960’s.  
If that information is incorrect, please let me know.


	7. Chapter 7

Ray made it back to the station two hours later. He was starting to feel like this day would never end. He realized that he never heard back from that opera singing doc about the autopsy which reminded him that he still didn’t have his cell phone. It was amazing how quickly he had come to rely on that little piece of plastic.

When he walked into the Violent Crimes Section, he was once again assaulted, but this time it wasn’t by hot coffee. This time it was by both Elaine and Lt. Welsh. Elaine started to talk excitedly, but Welsh shushed both of them and pulled them into his office. 

Ray noticed as he was dragged across the large open room that the Polar Bears and their entourage were gone. It was actually eerily quiet in the room. The only person he saw was Francesca who was buffing her nails with her feet up on his desk.

They entered Welsh’s office and the lieutenant immediately snapped the blinds shut. 

“We need to talk.”

“What’s going on?” Ray asked worriedly.

“Randal Bolt has escaped from prison,” Elaine announced gravely. 

“What? You’ve got to be kidding me. Again? What is it with that guy?” Ray was tired and really didn’t feel like having to think about a new case when he wasn’t even close to figuring out this one.

“This is serious, Vecchio. A BOLO has already been issued and the FBI is on the way. I’d really love to not lose yet another case to those federal bastards,” Welsh announced as he sat down behind his desk.

“I’m so confused,” Vecchio sighed and rubbed his forehead, trying to forestall his building headache.

Elaine pushed Vecchio down in a chair.

“Look, here’s what’s happening. Bolt escaped from ADX Florence by pretending to be ill. He had to be transferred to a hospital for treatment and until we called them and asked them to double check, they didn’t even know he was gone. There’s a look-alike in a deep coma at a hospital in Denver. You with me?”

“Okayyy… but…”

Elaine cut him off. “I’m not finished yet. To answer the question that you haven’t asked yet, it was Fraser who figured out Bolt had escaped.”

“Fraser?”

Elaine held up a finger to stop him and continued. 

“He saw Bolt on the video footage from the lake.”

“Oh,” Vecchio said in a small voice. He was embarrassed that in all the excitement of the past few hours, he hadn’t spared Fraser a thought.

“Yeah, he called from the Port Authority about three hours ago, right after you left. I tried to call you on your radio. He wanted you to come pick him up.”

“Pick him up? I thought Thatcher was bringing him.”

“I have no idea. And then, when ADX Florence called us back and then Agent Ford… Well, I sort of forgot about him. He must still be waiting at the Port Authority. And, I almost forgot. I have your phone,” Elaine said as she pulled Vecchio’s phone out of her pocket and handed it over. “You left it in Booking.”

“Uh, thanks.” Ray was subdued, still ashamed that he’d forgotten about his best friend.

“The M.E. called a couple of hours ago and I answered it. Hope you don’t mind. He said he couldn’t wait for you, but he’d call again when he was finished.”

“Thanks, again,” Ray said as he looked down at his phone. By rote, he retrieved his voicemail and saw a message from a number he didn’t recognize. He brought the phone up to his ear and listened.

* * *

Fraser’s teeth were rattling by the time the sprinklers turned off. Thatcher didn’t move from her position. She had her head burrowed against his bare chest and he in turn had his head resting on top of hers. They both had their arms wrapped around each other in a manner eerily reminiscent of their time on the train when Bolt handcuffed them together. Only this time it was voluntary … somewhat.

“The sprinklers have stopped, Inspector,” Fraser whispered. Now he understood why she was so frantic to stay quiet earlier.

She didn’t respond. 

“We should try to keep moving,” he suggested.

She reacted violently by pummeling him in his chest with her small fists. He did nothing to stop her, only stood still and let her work out her frustrations on him.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she sobbed over and over again until she finally exhausted herself and stopped.

Thatcher turned away from her subordinate and took a few steps away from him. She reached up a hand and began to wring the cold water out of her hair. After a few deep breaths, she turned to face him again and found that he was examining the frame of the large door which ran from ceiling to floor.

“I’m sorry, Fraser,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t blame you. You were only trying to help. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be you.”

Although Fraser was sure she would probably make such a statement in a quiet voice even if they weren’t trapped inside a storage crate rigged to pour freezing water down upon them if they raised their voices.

“Quite alright ma’am.” Fraser glanced back over his shoulder and immediately diverted eyes away from her.

She wrapped her arms around herself as if she was giving herself a hug. 

“I’ve already tried that. I don’t think there’s anyway out of here. The only thing I could find that might be helpful was the drain in the bottom of the floor.”

Fraser immediately turned away from the door and went to examine the drain. There were currently about five centimeters of water on the floor and it was slowly draining out the small grid in the center of the container. Fraser got on his hands and knees to examine it. Thatcher joined him.

“I had an idea that if I could get the cover off maybe I could call for help, but … that was before I realized the purpose of the drain.” Her voice sounded hopeless.

“We’re not going to die here. I promise you that,” Fraser said with honest conviction.

“How can you possibly say that?”

“Ray will find us. I have complete confidence in him.” He looked Thatcher squarely in the eye and added, “And if he doesn’t, then Diefenbaker will.”

“Is it bad that I have more confidence in your wolf than in your detective?”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

* * *

Ray put the phone in the middle of Welsh’s office and replayed the voicemail from Thatcher with the phone’s speaker turned on. It took all of his self-control not to storm out of the building in search of his best friend.

Near the end of the message, the three of them focused completely on the voices, Bolt and an unidentified woman.

...  
Alright, alright, enough fooling around. Let’s get these clothes off her. I’ve got the feeling that Sam’s going to be a little harder to catch than Susie, here.

Did you know that Captain and Tennille chose Muskrat Love to sing at a White House dinner honoring the Queen? True fact.

Ray closed his phone and looked up at Welsh.

“Bolt has Fraser and Thatcher.”

“You don’t know that. You know he has the Inspector. You don’t know he has Fraser.” Welsh was trying to sound calm, but it was extremely difficult.

Ray opened the door and called for Diefenbaker who was sleeping under Elaine’s desk. She was famous for having the largest storehouse of junk food in the precinct which was amazing considering how small she was.

The half-wolf trotted up to the detective. His whole continence was awake and alert as if he could sense that something very wrong had happened.

“Come on, boy. We’re going to find Fraser.”

He headed toward the door without another word, Francesca hot on his heels.

Elaine started to say something, but Welsh stopped her.

“He needs to be as involved in this as he can,” Welsh told her as he picked up his phone. “A man’s partner is closer to him than his wife.”

Elaine cocked her eyebrow at that, but did not comment. She still, very much, wanted to go to the police academy.

“This is Welsh from Violent Crimes. We have a suspected kidnapping of two law enforcement officers and it involves escaped convict, Randal Bolt. We’ll fax the relevant information to you. Yes, I understand.” He hung up the phone and turned to Elaine. “The FBI will be setting up the Situation Room here, in my office. Get that fax out to them with all the stats we have on Fraser and Thatcher.”

Welsh started clearing off his desk without another word when he realized that Elaine was still standing there.

“What?”

“I just wanted tell you , sir, that that was the most selfless act I’ve ever seen.”

“Let’s just find those two Canadians as quickly as possible so we can get rid of those … agents.”

* * *

“Does it feel colder in here to you?” Fraser asked as they walked back and forth across the cold floor trying to keep moving.

Without any verbal discussion, they had both decided to simply not look at each other as the best way to save both their own and each other’s modesty.

“Up there,” Thatcher pointed to the freezer unit on the ceiling which was blowing frigid air into the container.

“Oh, dear,” Fraser commented, “It appears that our modular storage unit is equipped for refrigeration.”

“What do you mean, modular storage unit? I thought we were in some sort of metal building.”

“No. We’re inside a large warehouse full of these storage units, the kind that are transported around the states on ships, trains and trucks.”

“So, we’re still near the lake?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re only a few blocks away from the Port Authority. In fact I followed you here.”

“Explain.”

“Hazel was wearing your clothes and I thought she was you. She lead me here.”

“They forced me to help them catch you,” Thatcher said as she sank to the floor, overcome by their situation.

Fraser squatted down next to her. “Did they hurt you?”

“When I first woke up here, I,” she glanced down at herself, “was naked and of course, I naturally thought… But I was wrong. He hadn’t done that to me. Then, of course, I started banging on the doors and …”

“The sprinklers.”

“Yes. Bolt spoke to me through speakers. When you came in, was the first time I saw them. They wanted me to call for you to help me, but I wouldn’t do it.” The inspector’s voice became thick with emotion. “So he turned on the water and he turned on the freezer unit. I’m sorry. I should have been stronger, but I couldn’t stand it. I was so cold.”

Fraser reached out and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. This time he didn’t flinch because his own skin was just as cold as hers.

“You’re not weak, ma’am.”

“They made me call your name and ask for help. I called you Benton on the tape and since I never call you that, I was sure you would realize it was a trap. I guess it didn’t work.”

“Some part of me knew it was a trap,” Fraser told her. Unfortunately, that part was my imaginary ghost father and I ignored him. “I just didn’t listen.”

She was starting to shiver again; they both were.

Fraser stood and held out a hand to his superior.

“We need to keep moving. It will keep our body temperature up.”

Thatcher looked up and stared deeply into his eyes.

“I don’t want to keep moving. I’m tired.”

“Please.”

His plea was so heavy with honesty and emotion that she reached up and took his hand and let him pull her to her feet, careful, of course, to avoid looking at him. 

* * *

“Francesca, get out of my car!” Ray yelled as they sat in front of the station with Diefenbaker sitting in the middle of the back seat, watching them both very carefully.

“No. I’ve been here all day. I’m bored and I wanna go home.” Her voice was petulant and even whinier than usual.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going home. I’m going to find Fraser.” 

“Even better,” Francesca said as she strapped on her seatbelt.

“Ugh, you drive me crazy. You know that?”, Ray said before he slammed the car into drive and floored it.

When they arrived at the Port Authority, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Snow was blowing horizontally and Ray couldn’t see move than a few feet in front of him. 

“Can you see where you’re going? Because I can’t see a thing,” Francesca’s voice was whinier and louder than normal due to a combination of her anxiety and the roar of the twenty-five year old car heater blasting on them at its highest setting. 

“Yeah, yeah… Just shut up so I can concentrate. There’s a garage around here somewhere. Then, we’ll go in and see Aunt Sophia.” 

Ray was driving with his face only inches away from the steering wheel. He was squinting so hard that his eyes were reduced to tiny slits.

If the situation wasn’t so serious, Francesca would have told him he looked like their 95 year old grandmother driving her 1970 Cadillac DeVille.

“Ray… You look like Nonna … right before she crashed into that Jersey wall, remember? And y’know… I think she had that same warm-up suit.”

Ray turned directly to look at her, completely ignoring the road, or what little he could see of it.

“Look, will you just leave me alone for once? I’m trying to find my best friend in the middle of the biggest frig…”

The rest of Ray’s words were cut short when he plowed straight into the side of a large white van which was barreling out of a side alley.

TBC

Author’s Note:

Oh my… now Ray’s in the cliffhanger! Does my evil know no bounds?


	8. Chapter 8

“All set?” Bolt asked Hazel as she came back from her final perimeter check.

“Yep. Everything looks clear,” she reported with a puzzled expression on her face. “Hey, Randy? Why are you rigging a bomb to the door if they’re supposed to freeze to death?”

Bolt scowled at the little blonde as he put an oversized lock on the door

“Stop calling me Randy! No one calls me that. Not even…” Bolt’s voice became uncharacteristically choked with emotion. “... Francis called me Randy. My name is Randal! As for the bomb … I don’t want to take any chances. These people have gotten away from me twice before. They’re not making it out of this alive. Besides,” a malicious smile appeared on Bolt’s face, “it’s my trademark, my modus operandi, my…”

“Your gimmick?”

“Yeah… my gimmick. I like that. Thank you, Hazel.”

Bolt and Hazel made sure that the container holding the mounties looked like every other modular shipping unit in the warehouse. There were over 500 containers and Bolt had cleverly chosen one in the exact center of the building. 

Those two sanctimonious cops would never be found. Or, at least, by the time someone found them, it would be too late to do more than hold a memorial service.

They hurried out of the warehouse and to their white panel van. 

Hazel sighed wistfully and said, “It’s a shame really. I think they make a cute couple. Did I ever tell you how my grandparents met because it was under eerily similar circumstances?”

“No and no! No, you didn’t tell and no, I don’t care whether it’s another ‘true fact’ or if you just pulled it out your ass!”

Hazel shrank into herself and stopped talking. Bolt had an infinitesimally small twinge of guilt for shouting at her.

“Oh, hell,” he said in resignation. “Go ahead. Tell me how your grandparents met.”

“Ooo, I’d love too. See, Granny was a stripper…”

Bolt rolled his eyes as he gunned the van out of the alley and onto the street. 

oOo

“Shhh. Do you hear something?” Fraser asked as he cocked his head to the side.

“Jjjust the air freezing in mmy lungs,” Thatcher tried to quip, but the joke came up flat … or frozen in this case.

Ignoring her, Fraser dropped to his knees at the drain and lowered his ear to the floor. 

Oh God, Meg. You are going to burn in hell. Here you are about to freeze to death … and you’re staring at a man’s naked ass. Just because it’s the finest ass you’ve ever seen is beside the point. This is Benton Fraser, your subordinate, your deputy, your…

Just then Benton looked back at her and in the instant their eyes locked, she knew that he knew that she had been staring at his backside. However, being the super Canadian that he was, he ignored this slip in decorum.

Instead, he informed her, “I think I hear sniffing.”

“You can hear someone smelling? That doesn’t even make sense.” 

She joined him on the cold floor, but by now everything was cold so why did it matter?

“Oh God, I hear it too.”

“It’s Diefenbaker,” Fraser said with a smile on his face.

“You knew he would find us.” Meg was smiling too. “Diefenbaker, go bring help,” she whispered enthusiastically into the drain.

“That won’t work, ma’am.”

“Why not? I’ve seen you speak to him before. Amazingly enough, he seems to understand English.”

“While that is true, it won’t work now because he is completely deaf. He can only read lips and he has to see you to do that.”

Meg hung her head in defeat. “So we really are going to die.”

“Nonsense, Inspector. Diefenbaker is an incredibly intelligent animal. He will bring help.”

Next to the unit, Diefenbaker lay down and waited. His master was inside, so now all he had to do was wait until he came out. He wasn’t sure why he was with the alpha female, but humans seemed to like privacy when they mated, so maybe that was why they were alone in the big metal box.

“He’s still there, Fraser. I can hear him snoring.”

“Then perhaps he has led a rescue party to us and is simply waiting for Ray to arrive.”

oOo

Chaos and noise commensurate with any emergency room in any large American city greeted Harding Welsh as he came crashing through the double doors of Cook County General. 

He grabbed onto the first person wearing scrubs.

“Raymond Vecchio! Where is he?”

A hardened gangbanger would have been shaking in his Air Jordans, but Welsh’s rough handling barely registered on the haggard young man’s face. The ER doctor shook Welsh away from him before replying.

“I have no idea. This is Friday night and we’re standing in the busiest emergency room in the entire country. Despite this insanely cold day, I’ve got five overdoses, an attempted suicide, a knifing, and a DOA from a car crash. Who in their right minds would even be driving in this…”

“Car crash?” Elaine, who had followed Welsh in, interrupted the harried doctor by placing her hand gently on his arm. “We’re the police and we believe one of our detectives was brought here. Tell us about the car crash … Please, it’s very important.”

Elaine’s sincerity must have won him over because the young doctor sighed deeply and asked them to follow him into a small room off to the side of the busy emergency room.

The doctor referred to a clipboard as he told them about the accident.

“Okay, I’ll be blunt because I don’t have time for anything else. The crash involved two vehicles, but we didn’t get all the vics. A female was pronounced dead at the scene. She was sent to Mercy.” Elaine bit her lip to keep from interrupting him, sure the dead woman must be Francesca. “A male suffered multiple internal injuries and is on a respirator in ICU.” 

“Oh, God…” Elaine gasped. Try as she might, she couldn’t hold back her distress.

“Would you like to see him?” the doctor asked with genuine sympathy in his voice.

“I think we’d better,” Welsh answered for both of them.

They followed the doctor back out into the hallway and turned right, away from the entrance and a very familiar figure slowly shuffling down the hall. He was wearing green scrubs and at first glance looked like a hospital employee until one noticed his head was bandaged and his arm was in a sling.

Raymond Vecchio had almost made it to the door when a blast of air cold hit him along with a tense man in a dark wool coat.

“Hey, watch it, buddy!” Ray blurted out. He felt like crap, but he still had some fight left in him.

A federal shield was suddenly shoved under his nose and he heard an all too familiar voice barking at him in a condescending voice.

“Agent Ford, FBI. Where can I find Randal Bolt?”

“Ugh,” groaned Ray. It was as if this man’s voice hit his brain at just the right frequency to trigger a migraine. “God, don’t talk so loud … or better yet, don’t talk at all.”

Ford stopped and took a good look at the man he initially assumed was a doctor. 

“Wait a minute. Don’t I know you?” Ford actually stroked his chin thoughtfully and then, snapped his fingers. 

Ray screamed in pain at the noise and then, screamed again at the pain caused by his screaming in the first place.

“I’ve got it! You’re with the Chicago PD,” Ford announced triumphantly.

“No shit, Sherlock. We’ve only worked together… what, like three times? I’m not thinking so clearly right now.”

Using his superior powers of observation gained through years of field work, plus a mandatory in-home study course, Ford noticed that something was not right with … what was his name?

“Hey, you don’t look so good,” Ford announced with certainty. 

“Yeah? Well, I don’t feel so good.” 

Ray looked around and lowered himself very slowly into a nearby chair. He did his utmost to keep his head completely upright and stationary. Ford sat down next to him on the edge of the seat, careful not to get too close to the injured man. After all, this was a hospital and one never knew what germs were floating around in the air.

“You want me to call someone?” the FBI agent asked politely. 

“No. I’ve had enough poking and prodding. I just want to go home.”

“You don’t want to go out there, man. It’s a blizzard. You’d have to be crazy to drive in this weather.”

Ray slowly turned his head to look at the agent.

“Yeah? So how’d you get here?”

“Oh, I have a driver,” he replied, as if this actually answered the question. “Hey, those are some sharp looking boots you’ve got there.”

Ray was about to come back with a sarcastic reply when he realized that Ford was being genuine in his admiration of the python skin pimp boots.

“Uh, thanks. If you like these, you should have seen the rest of the outfit. They cut it off me when I came in.”

Suddenly remembering what this irritating man had shouted at him when he first rushed through the door, Ray asked, “Did you say something about Randal Bolt?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here. He was involved in a crash with another vehicle. The ER ran his fingerprints and we were notified.”

“A crash, huh? Looks like there’s lots of crazies driving around out there. What a coincidence. That’s how I got here, y’know? Some nutjob flew out of an alley and I…”

Maybe that doctor who told him he had a concussion was right because he was definitely not firing on all cylinders. 

“Where’s Bolt now?” Ray asked, perhaps the most logical question since he’d awakened in the ER.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Ford answered as he stood up and tried to catch a nurse who flew by them without a second glance.

“Come on, we’ll find him ourselves,” Ray said as he rose too quickly, staggered a couple of steps, and took off in the general direction of the triage area.

oOo

“What’s he doing?” whispered Thatcher as she and Fraser sat huddled together, staring at the drain.

He had chivalrously draped an arm around her in an effort to share what little body heat they had. They had been in this position for almost thirty minutes, listening to Diefenbaker’s snores. However, in the last minute or so, the rhythm of his breathing had changed and Meg was hopeful that he was finally waking up.

“He’s dreaming,” Fraser announced solemnly. “Probably of chasing down elk … or perhaps deer.”

Despite their situation, Meg snickered. “You forget that I’ve seen that wolf eat. If he’s dreaming about food, then he’s dreaming about donuts, not elk.”

oOo

Ray decided the direct approach was the most efficient way to find Bolt or maybe it was just the piercing headache talking. In any case, he walked up to the closest curtained off area in the ER and quickly pulled back the curtains to reveal … 

… Francesca being bitten by a blood-sucking vampire.

Ray blinked several times and shook his head to clear it which caused that now familiar stabbing pain to pierce his skull and blur his vision. Hey, the blurring vision was new.

Once his eyesight cleared, he wished it hadn’t. It turned out that it wasn’t a vampire sucking her blood, but a very pale intern, wearing scrubs which were very similar to his own by the way. Oh, and he wasn’t sucking her blood either.

He was listening to her chest with a stethoscope, aided by his very helpful sister, although the aid she was giving wasn’t very helpful. Her blouse was completely unbuttoned and her black lace demi bra left little to the imagination.

“No, not there. Move the scope a little lower, doctor,” Francesca pulled one of the earpieces out of the intern’s ear and directed him to move the diaphragm of the stethoscope further down her chest into her abundant cleavage. “That’s it. That’s where I felt the pain.” She inhaled deeply so he would have a better view of her … problem area.

The young intern hadn’t heard the curtain pull back because he had the rubber earpieces of the stethoscope firmly planted in his ears and his eyes firmly planted on Francesca’s heaving breasts.

Francesca hadn’t heard the curtain because she was too focused on the intern and his probing … probe.

“Frannie!” shouted Ray, who was starting to become accustomed to the pain in his skull.

“Ray! You’re alive! They told me you were in a coma.”

She sprang off the examining bed and ran over to hug Ray, knocking the intern back into some medical equipment in the process. He must have hit an alarm because suddenly the familiar sound of a heart monitor flat-lining began blaring throughout the ER. Scores of medical personnel ran to give assistance, knocking Ray and Francesca out of the way and directly into Agent Ford, who had been standing silently until this point in time, content with staring at Francesca’s partially exposed chest. The three of them were quickly hussled back out into the hall.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Get yer dirty hands off my sister!”

Agent Ford had the good grace to look shocked at where his hands had inadvertently landed on the voluptuous young woman. He quickly sprang away from her and held his hands in the air to demonstrate his innocence.

“This beautiful young lady is your sister? I find that hard to believe,” the agent said with real sincerity.

“Why thank you; that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time,” Francesca cooed as she offered him her hand. “Francesca Vecchio.”

“Henry Ford,” said Ford was definitely smitten. He took her hand, but instead of shaking hands with her, he brought it to his lips as he bowed down to kiss the back of her hand.

“Shut up and take off your coat,” Ray growled at Ford.

Ray took the coat and draped it around his sister’s shoulders as she stared up at Ford with puppy dog eyes.

“Hey, there’s no time for that stuff now.”

“I’m afraid your brother is correct. We were looking for the escaped convict, Randal Bolt. Would you happen to know where he is?” Ford asked in a very pleasant and completely unnatural voice.

“I’m sorry, Henry, but I don’t know. I’ve been stuck here in the ER since we were brought in.”

“I know where he is,” piped a squeaky voice from behind them. In fact, the voice sounded like a boy on the cusp of adolescence.

The squeaky voice belonged to the intern who looked hurt that Francesca had obviously thrown him over for another man.

“He’s in the ICU, right through there,” he continued, pointing down the hall. “I’ll show you, Francesca.”

“No. I’ll show her,” interjected Ford, even though he had no idea where they were going.

“No. I’ll show her!” shouted back the intern.

The two lust-struck males were about to start chest bumping each other when Ray pushed them apart.

“Will you two stop it already!”

“You!” Ray jabbed a finger into the intern’s bony chest, “Are a pimplely faced kid who is too young for my sister. Plus, you work eighty hours a week and have hundreds of thousands of dollars of school loans to pay back. Am I right?”

The young man nodded meekly and Francesca rolled her eyes at her older brother’s assessment, even if it was correct.

Then Ray turned around to face Ford, briefly grabbing onto his shoulder with his one good arm to steady himself.

“And you! You are a heartless bureaucrat stuck in a job you thought was going to be exciting, but turned out to be a paperwork nightmare with levels upon endless levels of butt kissing to get anywhere near a promotion. Am I right?”

“Well, the paperwork isn’t that bad. I sort of like paperwork, actually.”

oOo

Diefenbaker was tired of waiting. However, after his harrowing escape from the car crash, he wasn’t anxious to get into anymore gasoline powered vehicles for a while. He knew if he left here to find Ray, he’d end up in another vehicle.  
This presented quite the conundrum. Even so, the call of nature was even greater than the call of sleep, so Diefenbaker slowly rose and trotted toward the door which would lead back out into the frigid cold.

He had just lifted his leg on the perfectly sized fire hydrant when a rope was suddenly cinched around his neck and he found himself being pulled toward a large van. Even in the driving snow, Dief recognized this type of vehicle immediately and Diefenbaker started struggling with vigor.

During his short time in Chicago, Diefenbaker had had more than one run-in with the City of Chicago Animal Control Officers. In his opinion, they were the lowest form of human life, lower even than cat owners.

And unfortunately, this one was really strong. 

“Come on. I’m not going to hurt you, fellow. It’s just too cold to be out on a night like this.” 

By the time he had Diefenbaker secured in the truck, Jim Hanes was panting as hard as the wolf he had just wrestled. Even though he was only twenty-eight years old, he weighed almost three hundred pounds. It was three hundred fat pounds, not muscle. He slammed the door shut against the blowing wind as his partner tsked at his actions.

“Jim, my man, you are one crazy SOB. I can’t believe you just captured a fringin’ wolf.” Jose Garcia was older and supposedly wiser and did not get out of the truck until it was absolutely necessary.

“A wolf?” Jim asked with a smidge of fear in his voice. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure,” Jose replied as he calmly opened his thermos and poured out a cup of hot chocolate, offering it to Jim. “Here, have some of this. It’ll calm your nerves.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled as he took a sip from the small metal cup. “What do we do with him?”

Jose scratched what was left of his hair and pondered the question for a moment. 

“Well… he’s a wolf, right? Where do wolves belong?”

“The wilderness?” Jim opined.

“This is Chicago. We don’t have any wilderness, but we have one of the largest zoos in the country.”

Jim’s eyes grew wide. “The zoo? You think he might have escaped from there?”

“No clue, but I think they’ll take him. They’ll have to. He’s obviously a menace to society.” 

As he said this, Jose turned around and tapped on the wire-mesh reinforced glass window which separated the cab of the truck from the animal containment area. There sat Diefenbaker, curled up against the door, sound asleep.

TBC

Author’s Notes:

Okay, I just became aware that ff was deleting all of my scene breaks. I’ve fixed it in all the chapters. I’m surprised anyone read this thing. I hate reading stories with no breaks. And I could have sworn I used this break before and it worked fine.

Wow, this one sort of wrote itself. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.  
And now a cliffhanger for Diefenbaker! And I’ve answered my own question from the previous chapter. My evil is truly boundless!


	9. Chapter 9

“It’s going to be okay, Inspector. I promise you. We will not die here.”

Benton repeated these phrases so often that they had become his mantra as they slowly shuffled around inside the small frozen box which had become their prison … and perhaps their coffin.

The Inspector was in front of him, so he was able to catch her when she stumbled. In fact, he scooped her up in his arms and cradled her like a small child.

“Inspector, sir. Stay awake.” Fraser’s lips were so cold and numb that his words slurred unconsciously.

He shook her gently and she looked up at him with a glazed look in her eyes.

“Inspector Thatcher!” He whispered frantically. 

He shook her less gently.

“Focus on me. Don’t fall asleep, sir.”

She mumbled something which he didn’t understand and for the first time since this torture began, he started to truly worry about the both of them.

She lifted a hand and motioned vaguely upwards.

“There’s something up there,” she mumbled through half-frozen lips and half-focused eyes.

“Well, yes,” Fraser inhaled sharply as he automatically began an explanation. “Most people find belief in a higher power to be sustaining, especially in difficult circumstances. As they say, there are no atheists in a foxhole. In fact,...”

She blinked a couple of times which brought Fraser into focus. Thatcher stared up at him with a frustrated expression on her pale face. 

“What the hell are you talking about, Constable?”

“God, sir. I’m talking about God.”

“Oh…” she thought about his statement for a moment and realized that she obviously wasn’t thinking very clearly at all and therefore, decided to not think about it. “Well, I’m talking about something on that little shelf near the ceiling and I’m pretty sure it isn’t God.”

Once again, she pointed upwards, but this time with more purpose and a steadier hand. Fraser followed her finger and saw that, indeed, there was something on a small shelf near the ceiling. Tucked up in the corner of the trailer was a small shelf which didn’t look like it belonged there. On that shelf they could see a dark shape, but there wasn’t enough light for them to discern more details.

“What do you think it is?” Meg asked with a bit of excitement in her voice.

“I have no idea, but it’s too high for either of us to reach.”

“Put me down,” she ordered with an echo of the Inspector’s bite in her voice.

Then she spent a bit of time looking at the shelf and then back at Fraser. She walked completely around him as she studied the problem, but this time she wasn’t looking at him lustfully. This was purely utilitarian.

“How high do you estimate the ceiling to be?”

“The standard height of an American shipping trailer is 110 ⅝ inches which is approximately 2.8 meters.”

“And the shelf looks to be about half-a-meter from the ceiling.”

Fraser nodded. “Yes, that seems reasonable.”

Finally, the solution became clear.

“Put me on your shoulders.”

oOo

The young intern, Melvin, was so embarrassed by Ray’s chastisement that he quickly excused himself when the group arrived at the ICU. Francesca waggled her fingers at the young man as he left.

“You!” Francesca shrieked after the intern disappeared around a corner. “How dare you embarrass that sweet young doctor like that. What’s wrong with you, Raymond, are you trying to ruin my life?”

Ray was forced to close his eyes to ward off the onslaught of Francesca’s attack, but it didn’t help. His headache was back with a vengeance.

“No, Frannie,” Ray barely replied in a slow monotone. “I’m just trying to protect my baby sister. Is that such a crime? 

In a rare display of empathy to her brother, Francesca gave Ray a heartfelt hug. Their special moment was interrupted by Agent Ford who rudely tapped Ray on the shoulder.

“Shouldn’t we be going in to see Bolt, now?” 

“Sure, Henry… let’s go,” Ray replied, putting extra emphasis on the name, Henry.

As they entered the ICU, Ray immediately noticed the changes in this part of the hospital as compared to the ER. Most importantly, it was blessedly quiet. Also, the light level was lower and no one was running around shouting about Code “pick a color” every few minutes.

In short, Ray could start to like this place.

The room was circular and organized like a wagon wheel where the hub was the nurses’ station. At the end of each invisible spoke was a bed situated with real walls and a curtain across the front for privacy. There were only eight beds in this unit and four of them were empty.

Ford took charge and walked up to the nurses’ station. 

In his best FBI agent’s voice, he announced, “Hello, I’m Agen…”

“SSSHHHH,” hissed the older gray haired nurse sitting at the desk. “We like to keep it quiet here. After all, this is the Intensive Care Unit.” 

She reminded Ray of Sister Ignatius, his seventh grade math teacher. That woman could swing a ruler like Ty Cobb swung a bat. He still claimed that was the primary reason he was so bad at math. Of course, he also credited her for his excellent reflexes. He could avoid flying rulers like nobody’s business.

Ford started again in a much softer voice. “Hello, I’m Agent Ford and I need to see the escaped convict, Randal Bolt.”

“Are you a relative?” the nurse snapped.

Ray noticed that she wasn’t being particularly quiet, but decided to keep this observation to himself.

“No. I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Mr. Bolt is an escaped prisoner.”

“Only relatives are allowed to see patients in the ICU. No exceptions.”

“But you have to make an exception. He’s a danger to society.”

“No ICU patient is dangerous to anyone. Most of them are barely conscious.”

While Ford was arguing with Sister Ignatius, Ray walked over to the nearest curtain and took a peek inside. 

An old lady.

He checked the next one.

A really obese man.

And the next.

Empty.

And finally, he came to the last one with the curtain pulled shut. 

Ray’s eyes were immediately drawn to the man in the bed. The patient, presumably Randal Bolt, was attached to a ventilator which provided him with enriched oxygen through a tube which was attached to the large mask which he wore. The mask effectively obscured his face. His head was completely covered by a large, white bandage. His left arm and leg were in traction and elevated two feet off the bed.

Lieutenant Welsh and a doctor dressed in green shrubs stood next to the bed speaking in low voices. Elaine sat in a chair next to the bed. She gently held the hand of the patient in the bed while she spoke to him quietly.

Elaine was the first one to notice him. She instantly dropped the hand of the man in the bed, reacting as if she had been burned.

“Oh my God, Ray!” the attractive young black woman ran over and gave him a huge and very painful hug. “We thought that was you.”

While he was in the tight grip of Elaine, Ray felt other arms encircle him. 

Ray was convinced he was being crushed by a grizzly bear with really bad garlic breath until the bear spoke.

“We were so worried about you, Vecchio,” Welsh said with his voice full of emotion. 

“I … can’t … breathe,” Ray managed to rasp out in small tight bursts.

His two co-workers instantly let go and Welsh started brushing invisible lint off Ray’s scrubs.

“So wait a minute,” started Elaine. “If Ray is standing here, who’s in that bed?”

“That is Randal K. Bolt,” announced a deep baritone from the door.

They all turned to see Agent Ford standing next to Francesca at the opening to the little room. 

“Diefenbaker’s not a wooden roller coaster,” Ray mumbled.

“What are you talking about, Ray?” snapped Francesca as she stepped toward her brother.

Ray turned and looked at his sister with a puzzled expression on his face and collapsed.

oOo

Oh, Lord, this was a mistake, thought Meg as she sat with her thighs clamped around the back of Fraser’s head. Despite their obviously dire situation, there was no way a normal, healthy, human female could sit naked in such a position without feeling…

“Ohhh,” moaned Thatcher as Fraser slowly rose to his feet with his hands firmly locked around her legs.

“Inspector?” asked Fraser worriedly, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” quipped Thatcher through pursed lips. “I’m fine. Just hurry.”

“Of course, sir,” Fraser replied smoothly and he ferried her over to the shelf. 

Even though he was completely focused on delivering her to their objective, he couldn’t help but notice the faint smell of lotion on her legs or how incredibly smooth her calves were.

“French vanilla.”

“What?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Okay, I’m almost there … Now, stop.”

Even from this perch on Fraser’s shoulders, she still had to reach above her head to even touch the shelf. She tentatively reached out to whatever lay there.

“It’s smooth, silky, some sort of fabric, I think.”

She managed to brush it with the tips of her fingers, but couldn’t do more than that.

“I can’t reach it,” she sighed in frustration as she lowered her arm. 

“I can lift you higher,” offered Fraser, “but I won’t be able to maintain it for more than a few seconds.”

“I won’t need more than a few seconds, Fraser. Do it!”

“Yes, sir,” acknowledged Fraser as he confidently wrapped his strong hands around her upper thighs and lifted her straight up as if they were performing a cheerleading routine, a naked cheerleading routine.

“I’ve got it,” Thatcher exclaimed as a silky, dark cloth fell over Fraser’s face and broke his concentration. 

They both tumbled to the frozen floor in an undignified heap. 

“Ow,” moaned Thatcher as she slowly pulled herself up to her elbows and tried to get her bearings.

“Oh, dear,” monotoned Fraser as he opened his eyes to the sight of his superior’s naked breasts looming only inches from his face.

At the same moment, Thatcher looked down into the wide-open eyes of her assistant’s baby blues staring at her with an odd combination of wonder and fear. She swallowed slowly as she came to another realization of their current predicament. Their lower halves were dangerously close to … alignment. 

oOo

“Is he going to be alright?” asked Elaine worriedly.

The ER doctor, who had led them unwittingly to Bolt, was shining a small penlight in each of Ray’s eyes in turn. He replied without looking up from his examination of Ray.

“The pupil of his left eye is fixed and dilated.” Turning to the ICU nurse, he ordered, “Get him to radiology STAT. I want a CT scan of his cranium and I want it now!”

A gurney and two orderlies appeared out of nowhere. The doctor moved back and allowed them to place Ray on a gurney and wheel him out of the ICU.

Francesca looked panicked. “What’s happening? I don’t understand. He was perfectly fine ten minutes ago.”

“Lucid interval. It’s a temporary improvement after a traumatic brain injury. If I’m right about this, he’ll need immediate surgery to save his life.”

“What?” Francesca’s eyes grew unnaturally large.

Welsh stepped up and placed a comforting hand on Francesca’s shoulder. 

“Please, doc. Can you explain what’s going on in layman terms?” the big man asked.

“Look, you’ve just got to trust that time is of the essence right now. Luckily, we have one of the country’s best neurosurgeons. We just have to figure out how to get him here in this weather.”

Agent Ford, who had been conspicuously quiet during this entire episode, stepped forward. 

“Agent Ford, FBI,” Ford announced with his signature wrist flip of his badge, “My driver is at your command. We have a four-wheel drive Hummer and it will plow through anything.”

The doctor’s eyes lit up. “Excellent, I’ll give you the address!”

When the doctor and Ford left, Elaine, Francesca, and Lieutenant Welsh were the only ones left in the room. Of course, there was Randal Bolt, but as he was unconscious, he wasn’t likely to contribute much to the conversation.

“What do we do now?” asked Elaine forlornly.

“I know someone who’ll tell us what’s going on,” Francesca announced with authority. “Follow me.”

oOo

Thatcher jumped up and away from Fraser as if she had been poked with a hot iron, which was extremely close to the truth. Shortly after she realized their alignment problem, she felt, rather than saw, one obvious result from said alignment. Fraser’s natural reaction to the close proximity was what had finally spurred her to movement.

She covered her embarrassment by doing what came naturally to her. She yelled at Fraser.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Constable? Let’s figure out what we have.”

She quickly grabbed the material and tossed it at Fraser, giving him the cover he needed in order to stand up without further awkwardness.

“It appears to be a sleeping bag. The brand name is Coleman and is quite common in the US.”

Fraser turned the sleeping bag over in his hands and discovered a piece of paper attached to it.

“What’s that?” Thatcher asked impatiently.

“It’s a note, sir.” He dutifully removed the paper and handed it over to his superior officer.

She squinted down at the blurred writing and handed it back to Fraser.

“Well, go on. Read it!”

Fraser began reading the note, holding it up to the dim light as best he could. “Dear Sam & Susie,  
I don’t care what Randy thinks. I think you’re a really cute couple and that you deserve a fighting chance. Soooo… to quote Tony Curtis from the 1965 Warner Brothers movie, The Great Race, ‘In winter, one Kwakiutl in a blanket froze, but two Kwakiutls in the same blanket… were warmer.’ True fact.”

Fraser looked up from the paper. 

“It’s signed, Good luck, Hazel,” Fraser finished. “There’s nothing more.”

He held out the sleeping bag to her.

“You should take this, Inspector. You need it more than I.”

She jerked it out of his hands and replied with force, “Don’t be ridiculous. You read the note yourself. One Kwakiutl in a blanket froze.” Looking at him with newly found determination, she added, “This is our chance, Constable, and I’m not wasting it. We’ll share.”

A minute later, they lay awkwardly in the sleeping bag, back to back, which seemed the only proper way to lay under the circumstances. They felt immediately warmer.

Even though she knew the answer would be a long, drawn-out lecture worthy of an advanced anthropological course, Thatcher still broached the subject. 

“What’s a Kwakiutl anyway?” 

If the truth be told, hearing the normalcy in his voice was an incredible comfort.

“Aaahh,” Fraser sighed as he recalled what he knew about the subject, “The Kwakiutl are a First Nation people indigenous to British Columbia. Their language is called Kwak’wala and there are four dialects: Kwakwala, Nakwala, …”

The Inspector let the soft rumble of his voice relax her as it vibrated through his back to hers. They might make it after all.

TBC

Author’s Notes:

A sleeping bag… now the real fun can begin.

...but what about poor Ray?


	10. Chapter 10

Francesca found her little intern curled up on a ratty old sofa in the doctor’s lounge, sound asleep and snoring like her Uncle Lorenzo.

Melvin Berman was enjoying the first bit of sleep he had had in over twenty-four hours. That was until the screeching voice of Francesca Vecchio drilled into his dream, which, coincidentally, was about her, and forced him to return to the land of the waking … the loud land of the waking. The dark-haired beauty was much quieter in his dream.

“Melvin! Melvin!” shouted the fiery Italian. “You’ve got to get up. This is important.”

It took him several minutes and two cups of horrible coffee, but soon he was ready to talk. Welsh explained what happened to Ray and what the ER doctor said.

“That’s probably Dr. Wright. He’s my advisor.” Melvin ran a hand through his greasy hair and continued, “Your brother probably has an epidural hematoma. See, the brain is covered by a thick coating called the dura mater located underneath the tough, bony skull. An epidural hematoma means that bleeding occurs outside the brain and its covering. That means that as the blood collects, it cannot expand outward against the tough immovable bony skull, so it has to press inward and crushes the much softer brain. Since bleeding outside the brain is usually from a broken artery at high pressure, epidural bleeding often kills the patient.”

“O Merciful Heart of Jesus…” Francesca murmured as she crossed herself.

“Dr. Wright said surgery could fix it,” Welsh prompted, searching for a little good news to calm Ray’s frantic sister.

“Yes, that’s right,” Melvin continued, “Since the bleeding is continuous, the increase in pressure is also continuous and the pressure must be lowered before the patient stops breathing. The surgeon drills a hole in the skull and draws the blood out through the hole.”

Melvin caught Francesca just as she was collapsing. He sat down with her on the old sofa and looked up at the other two with a perplexed look.

“Did I say something wrong?”

oOo

Fraser awoke with a start. It took him a second to realize where he was and that he had unwittingly fallen asleep. He felt behind him and lightly touched Inspector Thatcher’s hip, trying to determine if she was awake or asleep. If she was awake, he knew she would physically strike out at him for daring to touch her in such a way.

She didn’t move. In fact, she was very, very still.

Fraser awkwardly turned over inside the bag such that he was in the “spooning” position with the Inspector. He firmly gripped her shoulder and shook her.

“Inspector Thatcher! Sir, wake up!”

No reaction.

He rolled her onto her back to check her vital signs. She didn’t appear to be breathing. Fraser’s worst fear had happened. He’d relaxed his vigilance and Thatcher, unable to resist the cold anymore, had slipped into a hypothermic coma. He quickly unzipped the sleeping bag to give himself room to work. The frigid air of the container hit him and it felt much colder than before. He quickly positioned himself beside her limp body and started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

This was all his fault. If he hadn’t fallen asleep, then she wouldn’t have fallen asleep and she wouldn’t have stopped breathing.

After two breaths, Fraser was pleased and surprised to see such an immediate reaction, only it wasn’t the reaction he expected. She thrust her tongue into his mouth while snaking her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her.

Fraser’s eyes grew wide in surprise and he tried to pull away, but she wasn’t having any of it. She held onto him with surprising strength. Her kisses became even more insistent, much more so than on the train, and despite his initial efforts to disengage himself from her clutches, Fraser found himself quickly giving in to her considerable charms.

“Fraser! Constable Fraser!” Insistent hands grasp his shoulders.

Between kisses he replied with a muffled, “Call me Ben.”

“Wake up … Ben.”

Fraser’s eyes popped open. He hadn’t realized they had been shut. He looked around and saw he was still in the sleeping bag with the Inspector. She was lying on her side, facing him with an odd expression on her face. He was lying flat on his back and thank goodness they were in the sleeping bag or he wouldn’t have been able to hide his body’s reaction to that most wonderful and short-lived dream.

It was a dream.

He had fallen asleep, not her. 

oOo

Elaine handed Francesca a Styrofoam cup of water which she accepted with shaky hands. Melvin sat next to her and rubbed soothing little circles on her back. He quickly realized that her extreme reaction to his description of her brother’s medical condition was completely his fault. He should have been more thoughtful of other people’s feelings. His mother was always telling him…

“Melvin, Melvin…”

Melvin jerked his hand away as Francesca’s voice finally penetrated the haze his mind was in. 

“Um, sorry,” he mumbled as he casted his eyes down to the floor.

“It’s okay,” Francesca said sweetly. “It felt nice. Maybe we could continue this later. You know after Ray’s better?”

“T-that would be nice.”

She reached over and gave his knee a good squeeze just as the door burst open and Agent Ford bounded into the room. He was wrapped from head to foot in a thick winter coat with a black balaclava completely covering his head. In fact, he looked more like a serial killer than an FBI agent. If it wasn’t for the bright yellow FBI stencilled into the mask, they would have all dove for the nearest closet to hide.

Ford ripped the balaclava off and the murderous look he gave the young intern made Melvin want to go for that closest just to be on the safe side.

“I-I…” Melvin mumbled and then made a show of looking down at his wrist watch. “Oh, my! I’m fifteen minutes late for my shift. Bye, Francesca!” He waved at Francesca as he hastily exited the room.

Francesca ignored the little doctor’s departure and spoke to Ford.

“What’s going on? Why are you back already? You’re supposed to be getting Ray’s doctor.”

“We got ‘im. Ha! Guess we’re not the only one’s who always get our man.” When no one reacted, he quickly changed subjects. “The doctor lived closer than we thought and he scrubbing up for surgery right now.”

Ford stepped up to Francesca and softened his voice.

“He’s going to be fine. I just know it.”

It must have been the overwhelming emotional rollercoaster she had been on since the accident which caused Francesca to crumble when she heard the sincerity in his voice. She collapsed right into the welcoming arms of FBI Agent Henry Ford. 

oOo

“I think we need to talk,” Thatcher suggested after they had resumed their original positions of lying back-to-back.

Fraser cringed, not looking forward to the inevitable questioning with respect to his recent dream.

“Yes. Well, I can explain. I didn’t realize I was dreaming.” Once he started talking, he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself. “In my dream, I thought you had fallen asleep and then, when I discovered that you weren’t breathing…”

“I think we need to talk,” she repeated, “so that we don’t fall asleep. It will keep us awake. I suggest we take turns.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense.” Fraser was secretly relieved that he no longer had to explain that awkward dream.

“Good. You go first.”

“Let’s see,” Fraser started and then, didn’t seem to know where to go from there. “What would you like me to talk about?”

“Anything. Everything. How about if you tell me where you got some of your scars,” Thatcher suggested. “You seem to have quite a number of them.”

“How do you…”

“We’ve been together in this frozen hell-hole for hours. There’s not much else to do when I’m pretending that I’m not looking at you than to look at you.”

“Understood.”

“How about the one on your lower back?”

“No,” he snapped with a bit too much force. Immediately, his voice softened and he added, “I mean, I’d rather not discuss that particular one.”

The most prominent scar on his body was the one caused by Ray’s bullet when his best friend accidentally shot him as he was running away with Victoria Metcalf, an escaped convict and the first woman he ever loved. It was the most shameful moment of his life and if presented with that situation again, he wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t choose to go with her. No, he would not explain that scar to the Inspector.

“Okay, what about the one on your right shoulder?”

Fraser inhaled slowly. “Alright,” he nodded in agreement. “I’ll talk about that one.” 

He linked his hands behind his head and settled back to start his tale.

“Ow! What are you doing?” snapped Thatcher when she felt Fraser’s elbow digging into the back of her head.

“Relaxing, sir.”

“Stop it. That’s my head you’re jabbing with your pointy elbows.”

“I’m sorry. Although, perhaps, you could use my arm as a pillow. Would that work?”

“I suppose.”

She lifted her head and allowed him to extend his arm in her direction. Then, she laid her head down.

“Will that suffice, sir?”

“Yes, and no. A few minutes ago you asked me to call you Ben. I would like for you to call me Meg … please. It seems ridiculous for us to continue the rank structure under the circumstances.”

“I agree, … Meg,” he said her name slowly as if trying it on for size. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel at all awkward.

“Good, now tell me about that scar, Ben.” She settled her head down onto his arm and had to admit it was much more comfortable than the hard, cold floor.

“Certainly. When I was ten years old, I lived in the village of Tuktoyaktuk with my grandparents. Most of the children were well socialized and pleasant. However, there was one bully, Elwood Bunks. Elwood walked into class one day swinging a dead otter over his head. He hit me in the shoulder with it.”

“My God!” Meg exclaimed. “That happened when you were ten? It must have been a horrible wound to have left such a prominent scar.”

Ben nodded sagely. “Yes, sometimes I still wake in the middle of the night, thinking of him coming at me with that otter.”

“Did your grandparents press charges?”

“Alas, no. This was in the fall of 1972…”

“Ah, I understand,” she interrupted. “It didn’t become illegal to wield a dead otter at someone until 1985. I believe.”

Ben turned slightly towards his superior officer, but not enough to dislodge her head from where it rested on his arm.

“That is correct, but how did you know that?” he asked incredulously.

She turned around to face him, and replied, “I’m a police officer, Ben. Why wouldn’t I know that?”

“Well, it is an obscure statute.”

“Actually, I have a Bachelor of Laws degree from The University of Ottawa, but I joined the RCMP before I completed my year of Articling, so I was never licensed.”

In Canada, the common law program is three years long. However, upon completion, one cannot practice law until one has obtained a license and completed a year of clerkship known as Articling.

“I had no idea. Why did you change career paths? … If you don’t mind me asking, si - Meg.”

“I don’t mind. My grandfather was a Mountie and we were very close. My father was an only child, as was I, and my grandmother passed away before I was born. My mother… well, she wasn’t in the picture for long. Granddad didn’t have anyone, but us. He wanted my father to follow in his footsteps, living on the edge, tracking suspects by his wits, but Dad wasn’t the adventurous type. Dad is the complete opposite, in fact. He’s a complete urbanite. His idea of roughing it is drinking instant coffee because his espresso machine is broken.  
“A week before I was to start my clerkship, Granddad became ill and I flew home to be with him. I grew up listening to his stories. They were wonderful, full of adventure, rugged self-reliance...”

“They sound like my father’s journals.”

“I was able to spend the last few weeks of his life with him, listening to those wonderful stories again. When he died, I decided that I could make a greater difference as a Mountie. Of course, I am still my father’s daughter and I prefer the city lights to the Northern Lights, but some days I feel as if I make a real difference.”

“I agree. I believe you are a true asset to the force, Meg.”

She raised her head and smiled at him.

“Thank you kindly, Ben.”

She laid her head down on his chest and he automatically moved his arm to encircle her back, resting his hand on her shoulder. They stayed that way in companionable silence.

TBC

Author’s Notes:

Okay, so I know it’s a myth that you shouldn’t fall asleep in the cold. However, much of this plot is based on them trying not to fall asleep and the things they do to help that along. Also, Due South perpetuates this myth in canon. When Fraser is telling Ray about his time with that evil Victoria in the cave, he makes reference to them trying to stay awake and that she recited a poem to him.

Thanks for taking the time to read.


	11. Chapter 11

A haggard man in green scrubs walked through the swinging doors of the waiting room. The room was packed, but no one even bothered to look up. They had spent the past six hours jumping to their feet at the least little movement from the direction of the operating room and were now completely burned out. Thirty minutes ago, Ray's mother had accosted a custodian and demanded that he tell her what was happening to her son. It took Lieutenant Welsh's intervention to stop the hospital from kicking her out.

The ferocious weather had finally broken about four hours earlier and Ray's entire immediate family, including his nieces and nephews, were crammed into the waiting room. Maria's middle two children were snuggled up against Elaine. It seemed she attracted children as easily as she attracted half-wolves.

One of Agent Ford's minions entered the waiting area from the opposite direction with two trays of coffee and an oversized bag of donuts. Even federal police knew about the power of the donut. Instantly, several members of Vecchio's family rose to help the agent. Tony Zeppeli, Maria's husband, took the bag from him and pulled out two donuts and started stuffing them into his mouth as he walked back to his seat.

"Watch it, buddy," mumbled Tony with a mouth full of donut as he brushed by a smaller man standing in the middle of the corridor.

"Excuse me," the haggard man in scrubs said as the dark haired, slovenly man passed him. "Can you tell me where I could find Mrs. Vecchio?"

However, Tony didn't hear him as he rushed over to his sleeping children with the bag of pastries. The man stood dumbfounded.

Elaine looked up as Tony approached and started to awakened the children, but they seemed to have some internal donut sensor and woke up instantly when Tony was still ten feet away. That's when Elaine noticed the man.

She jumped up immediately and ran over to him.  
"Doctor Getch! How did the surgery go? How's Ray? Is everything alright? You looked exhausted." Everything came out in a rush.

Elaine's outburst finally attracted the attention of the Vecchios who swarmed him like a starving dog on a bone. They all spoke at the same time which was normal for them, but difficult for anyone else to understand. Finally, one voice prevailed above the fray.

"Would everyone just shut up!" Lt. Welsh's voice bellowed over the throng of noisy Vecchios.

There were a couple of disgruntled murmurs, but the crowd quickly quietened.  
The lieutenant drew in a breath and exhaled before looking at the doctor and saying in a falsely calm voice, "Good. Now, Doc. Can you tell us how it went?"

oOo

"I have a question, Meg. Twice, our assailants referred to us as Sam and Susie. I do not understand the reference." Ben had his eyes closed. It seemed easier to talk to her if he didn't have to look at her.

"You know, from the song. Muskrat Love by Captain and Tennille."

"A love song about muskrats?"

"Yes. Look I know it seems crazy now, but in the mid 70's it was a very popular song. I was in junior high at the time and I actually loved that song." She started softly humming at first and then, started singing the chorus.

And they whirled and they twirled and they tangoed  
Singin' and jingin' the jango  
Floatin' like the heavens above  
It looks like muskrat love

"Catchy. So, it's a song about a romantic liaison between two anthropomorphic muskrats?"

"Yes," Meg replied tersely. "And their names were Susie and Sam. I can't believe you never heard that song."

"We didn't own a television and my grandmother was very strict about my musical exposure."

"Well, in retrospect, it's probably for the best. In the annals of popular culture, it doesn't do anyone any favorites." She sighed, "Thank goodness, Captain and Tennille weren't Canadian."

oOo

The doctor allowed Ray's mother and one other person to go back to see Ray after his successful surgery. Mrs. Vecchio chose Maria. The older Vecchio daughter quickly handed off her baby daughter to her less-than-enthusiastic husband and followed her mother down the hall.

Elaine sat back down with the children and frantically tried to wipe away powdered sugar from her dark blue slacks. Tony's children dove into that bag of donuts like Diefenbaker on a Monday morning. Poor Fraser… he tried every weekend to get Dief's sweet tooth under control, but it never worked. On Monday's he made a bee-line for her desk and her abundant stash of goodies.  
Diefenbaker! Elaine jumped to her feet and a shower of white powder floated to the floor.

Oh, Lord! Where was he? Ray left the station with Francesca and the half-wolf, so where was he now?

She hurried over to Francesca.

Vecchio's youngest sister was fuming in the corner because her mother had chosen her older sister, Maria, to see Ray before her. Agent Ford was trying with little success to calm her.

"I'm sure it was just the excitement of the moment. She wasn't thinking clearly, Francesca," Ford told her.

"Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing. It's all because of those rugrats, her nipoti preziosi," Francesca said with a loud snort. At Ford's puzzled look, she explained, "Her precious grandchildren. If only…"

"If only what, dear?"

"If I had children, she would love me as much as she loves Maria. Isn't it obvious?"

Ford reached over and gently took her tiny hands in his large ones.

"You've just been waiting for the right man to come along."

"Yeah?" She asked breathlessly as their eyes met and she leaned closer to him. She still wore Ford's over-sized suit jacket which hung open to reveal her bra. It was lacy and black.

"I'm positive," he rasped.

They drew closer together, their lips almost touching…

"Francesca! Where's Diefenbaker?"

oOo

"I want to go next," Meg announced, breaking the silence in the cavernous metal trailer. "When I was a little girl, there was a boy in my class who always teased me about what I was wearing. I mean, everyday he would make a comment about some part of my clothing."

Ben smiled, anticipating what she was going to say next.

"I couldn't stand that boy."

Ben's smiled evaporated as a cheshire grin appeared on Meg's face.

"Ten years later, he was my date for the after-grad party."

"Then why was he rude to you?"

"Ben… you were a boy. In fact, sometimes, I think you still are. When you were standing on that courthouse roof and I was on the street, you semaphored me. You said, 'Red suits you'. The same thing that you said on the train and the same thing that you said … was it yesterday? Anyway, you said it again when we were in the car on the way to look at the CC footage. Was that really only yesterday? It seems like a lifetime," she said with a sigh.

"What's your point, ma'am?"

"My point is that you were teasing me about what I was wearing, just like Tommy Beauchamp did when we were in grade two. You are the boy teasing the girl about what she's wearing and I find that incredibly cute… especially since I'm the girl."

Ben nervously cleared his throat before he said, "I was simply stating the truth, Meg. Red does suit you."

"If you say so, Ben. If you say so."

oOo

"Look how pale he looks, and puffy. His eyes are so swollen, he looks like he went ten rounds in a boxing ring with Joe Frazier. And he's so bloated, he looks like your Uncle Angelo after eating an entire lasagna by himself."

Mrs. Vecchio turned to Maria, whom she had chosen to come with her. If there was a solid rock among her children, it was Maria. Plus, if there were any unfortunate bodily fluids around, the young mother of four wouldn't even flinch.

"Ma…," Maria sighed, "his eyes are swollen because they taped down his eyelids during surgery and the bloating is a side effect of the anesthesia. It'll go away in a couple of days."

"Don't sound like such a show-off, Maria. You took four months of a two year LPN course before you got preg- married, so don't act like some sort of medical genius."

Before Maria could reply in her defense, they were interrupted by a low moan from the bed.

"Raimundo, it's Mamma, Raimundo. Wake up, baby," Mrs. Vecchio cooed to her oldest son while holding one of his hands in hers and absentmindedly fingering her rosary with the other.

Ray lay still against the pure white sheets. His head was wrapped in bandages and wires and tubes ran this way and that, pumping and extracting various fluids from his body.

Ray made a rumbling noise in his throat and then, coughed roughly before opening his eyes to the delight of his mother and sister.

Maria grabbed his other hand. "Oh, Ray. We've been so worried."  
Ignoring Maria, Ray addressed his mother.

"Ma… I had the weirdest dream. There was this really polite man, wearing all red and he had a big round hat."

"That's Fraser, Ray. He's your partner," Maria spoke to her big brother as if he was her four year old.

"Who?"

"You know, Benton Fraser, he's a Canadian Mountie, wears red most of the time." He still didn't react, so she added, "He's your best friend, Ray."

oOo

“Tell me more about your grandfather.”

It was much warmer in the sleeping bag, but there wasn’t much room left over. They had abandoned the the idea of staying back to back. A more efficient way to conserve heat was for Meg to lay with one of her legs behind Ben’s, her head on his chest and his arm wrapped securely around her waist. Ben had been employing the same mediation techniques he had suggested early to stay warm. Only now, he was trying to stay focused on anything other than Meg’s warm body on his.

“Well, he was bigger than life in more ways than one. George Thatcher was almost two meters tall, but only weighed 100 Kilos. I have precious few pictures of him from his youth, but they all show him in a huge fur hat and ornamental muk-luks, plus his ever present hatchet in his belt. I still have his boots. They were hand stitched by an Inuit woman. Granddad saved her husband’s life and she made him the boots.”

She edged her face up, but she couldn’t actually see Fraser since she was burrowed inside the sleeping bag.

“You know, Ben. It truly was a different world back then. He didn’t have a snowmobile, a high-tech tent or any kind of tent, for that matter. He routinely slept in only his down sleeping bag with nothing under him but pine needles, if he could find them.”

“Hmmm,” rumbled Ben deep in throat.

“Imagine what life was like back then. In the 50’s, there were only 4,000 Mounties on the force and they were responsible for patrolling nine million square kilometers. They didn’t just police in the traditional sense of the word. He would check the trap lines and make sure everything was legal. He checked on the trappers themselves to see if one of them had died, or gotten lost, or run out of food. Sometimes, he even carried mail to the trappers living out in remote cabins.”

Ben smiled to himself. “Sounds heavenly.”

“Really? Of course you would say that. You’re so much like my grandfather. You know, sometimes, I think you were born in the wrong time.”

He reflexively squeezed her closer to him.

“Sometimes, I feel like it.”

oOo

"Look darling... we were having a private conversation, do you mind?" admonished Agent Ford, suddenly back in full FBI mode.

Elaine was having none of his macho act.

"This is important and never call me darling." Pushing him out of her way, she spoke directly to Ray's sister, "Francesca, what happened to Diefenbaker? He left the station with you and Ray, but I haven't heard anyone say anything about him."

Francesca's dark eyes grew wide. "Shit," she gasped as her hand automatically came to her mouth. "I'd completely forgotten about him. Yeah, he was in the backseat of the Riviera. Could he still be in the car? Was he thrown from it?"

"Slow down. We'll figure this out. Let's work through it, slowly." Elaine started to guide the other woman as if she was interviewing a witness to a crime. She hoped she was wrong. "Let's start from the beginning. Why did you leave with Ray in the first place?"

They were interrupted by the uniquely irritating squeal of a preteen girl. Krystal Zeppeli, Maria and Tony's oldest child, had been sitting quietly on the sofa, playing Q*Bert on her Radiant Red Nintendo Game Boy until something on the muted television caught her attention.

She jumped to her feet and pointed frantically at the screen.

"That looks just like Diefenbaker!"

Elaine looked up at the mention of the name and caught the tail end of a local news report. She ran over to the television and turned up the volume just in time to hear some inane battering between the two morning hosts sitting in someone's living room, complete with coffee cups on the nearby table. The hosts were a young woman with big hair and even bigger shoulder pads and a balding older man with a horrible comb-over.

Well, Jen, I guess it's so cold the wolves are being driven out of the mountains and into the city.

You could be right, Bob… Except Chicago is a port city and the closest mountain is 650 miles away.

Jab, jab, jab. You just can't resist it, can you Jen?

Elaine reached up and turned off the television. Turning to Krystal, she asked, 

"Krissie, what did the report say exactly?"

"I don't know, Elaine. The sound was turned down, but they showed a picture of a wolf who looked just like Diefenbaker and the reporter was standing in front of the zoo."

"Oh, Lord."

oOo

"I would like to tell you something that I've never admitted to anyone before. Can I trust you?"

"Of course."

"Sometimes… well, it seems exceptionally silly to say it outloud. But sometimes... I see ghosts. Actually, it's only one ghost, but still… Do you think I'm crazy?"

Ben looked at Meg incredulously.

"I don't think you're crazy," he replied earnestly.

"Wait until you hear the whole story," Meg said as she boosted herself up on her elbows so she could see his face.

"Please, tell me."

"Well… it started soon after I entered Depot for training. I'd see a red shadow out the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was nothing there. Originally, I thought it was one of the instructors trying to catch the cadets in some sort of improper behavior. But that wasn't it."

"And now, do you see the shadow still?"

"Yes, but I've sort of gotten used to him. In fact, I find great comfort in him."  
"Him?"

"Yes. Over the years, I've come to believe that the red shadow is my grandfather wearing his Red Serge." She looked directly in his eyes, studying them and trying to ignore how very, very blue they were. "Still think I'm not crazy?"

"Not in the least. If this … apparition is, indeed, your grandfather, then I believe he is a very considerate ghost."

Meg wrinkled her forehead in confusion.

Ben continued, "You have to understand my unique perspective. I see … and talk … to my father quite regularly. And trust me, it can become quite annoying."

"Oh. Well… that explains a lot, actually."

He proceeded to tell Meg about his annoying ghost of a father while in the corner of the trailer a misty red shadow looked on.

"You really shouldn't be here, you know," Sergeant Robert Fraser said after he materialized beside an elderly, but extremely tall, Mountie. He was well over six feet tall and towered over Fraser who only came up to his shoulders.

Sergeant George Thatcher jumped in surprise, or as much surprise as an elderly ghost could exhibit. 

"You can see me?" the sergeant asked skeptically.

"Of course, I can. We're both dead, aren't we?" Sgt Fraser indicated to the older man's dress uniform. "I see they sawed off the back of your Stetson. They desecrated mine too." Robert held up his own stumped hat for inspection.

"Yes," the older man nodded sadly, "if I had known, I would have put it in my will to not cut up any of my uniform parts. It's a disgrace."

"The living… they don't think things through." Fraser, Sr. opined.

The older Mountie looked chargin. "Where are my manners?"

He held out his right hand to other ghostly apparition. "George Thatcher, RCMP, 1930-1965. Forced to retired due to a bum ticker." Thatcher tapped a finger to his chest, indicating the defective organ. "Surprised them all by living another fifteen years."

Sgt Fraser returned his handshake and said, "Bob Fraser, RCMP, 1950-1993, shot dead by my own partner."

"Hell of way to go. At least, you died while still in the service."

"True, true. And my son, there," he indicated to the sleeping bag, "tracked down my killer. That brings some manner of peace to a body."

"That it does," the elderly Thatcher nodded in agreement.

"Now…" Sgt Fraser pitched back and forth on his boots, "back to my previous statement. I don't think it's proper that either of us be in here with them when they're in their natural state."

"But I'm helping," insisted the older of the two.

"Helping? How?"

"By keeping her warm, of course."

"You can do that?" asked Fraser Sr., genuinely impressed.

"Of course. How do you think she survived when she was in here alone? She's a tiny little thing, not enough fat on her to stay alive in this kind of weather." He held his hand out straight, as if checking for rain.

Sgt Fraser thought the old man sounded a bit daff.

"Are you serious? Because I can't affect things in the living world."

Thatcher raised his brow knowingly. "Maybe you just haven't been dead long enough."

Sgt Fraser sighed loudly and looked back at the two young people. "Still… They are both naked." Sgt Fraser was starting to sound exasperated.

Luckily, since they were both apparitions, their raised voices did not trigger the sprinklers.

"That's my granddaughter you're talking about," Thatcher said indignantly.

"And that's my son!" Fraser shouted back. "That's why we shouldn't be here!"

The older man blinked and glanced towards the sleeping bag.

"Oh," he finally said. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

Both ghosts faded away.

TBC

Author's Note:  
I got tired of Tony not having a last name, so I gave him one - Zeppeli.


	12. Chapter 12

Try as she might, Elaine couldn’t reach anyone at the Chicago Zoo until the next morning. At least it gave them all a chance to go home, get a shower, grab a nap and a change of clothes. It also gave Ford a chance to send a team of FBI agents to Fraser’s office to find a photograph of Diefenbaker and his ‘wolf permit’. It was Elaine who had the foresight to think of this. She remembered Ray telling her how he had forged it for Fraser when he first came to Chicago.

Elaine wasn’t sure what to make of Agent Ford. It was obvious he was trying his best to impress Francesca and as long as it helped, she was all for it. Even so, she still didn’t like him and found him to be very patronizing to women.

At precisely 9:30 a.m., Elaine, Francesca, and Agent Ford arrived at the office of the zoo director, Dr. Belmont. She was a plump woman in a navy pantsuit and Elaine immediately recognized the tell-tales signs of powdered donut sugar on her dark clothes.

They introduced themselves and presented Diefenbaker’s papers and photographs. They also explained the urgency of the situation.

“He’s a domestic pet, Dr. Belmont. Your wolves are likely to tear him apart.”

She led them directly to the wolf enclosure and Francesca was the first one to spot Diefenbaker through the plexiglass window. He was in the corner of the pen, very near to a smaller wolf, presumably a female.

“Oh, my,” Francesca commented.

“Indeed,” agreed Dr. Belmont. “It looks like the pack has a new alpha.” She turned to Elaine. “You say he’s a half-wolf? If you don’t mind, what’s the other half?

She nodded, “He’s half-Husky.”

“Good to know. In about sixty days, we’ll be watching for some one-quarter Husky litters.”

oOo

“Did you know that Tibetan Buddhist monks can raise the skin temperature of their hands and feet by fifteen degrees through meditation?”

“Too bad we’re not Tibetan monks.”

It had become obvious to the two Mounties that the temperature of the room was falling. The floor, which had been wet from the sprinklers earlier, was now a frozen sheet of ice. Their easy banter from an hour ago had taken a decidedly more serious tone.

“It’s not that difficult, you know,” Ben said earnestly. “A good start is to try diaphragmatic breathing, also known as belly-breathing…”

“Fraser!” Meg hissed at him, ever mindful of the decibel-triggered sprinklers. “I don’t care about learning how to meditate right now.”

“It’s also useful for combating anxiety.”

“Anxiety? Anxiety? Don’t you realize we’re going to die in here. If it’s not from the cold, then we’ll starve to death.”

“Actually…” Ben interrupted. However, before he could make his point, Meg pinched his mouth shut, silencing him.

“Don’t,” she warned. “I know what I said was inaccurate. I realize that we’re going to die from dehydration before we starve. I get that, but my point is … we’re going to die, so it doesn’t really matter, now does it?”

“I would like to tell you about how I received the scar on my lower back now.”

“Okay,” Meg said cautiously, confused by his sudden change of topic. “Go right ahead.”

oOo

Huey and Dewey came bursting into Ray’s hospital room with two armfuls of clothing. 

“Ray! Ray! Look what Huey and me found in Bolt’s van.” Detective Dewey’s exuberance was loud and very disruptive in the small room.

Lieutenant Welsh, who had been napping in the corner, came out of his recliner ready for combat and none too happy to see the Duck Boys.

“What the hell’s going on here?” he bellowed at these two loose cannons he grudgingly referred to as police detectives.

Welsh had finally convinced the Vecchios to go home and get some rest when Ray was moved to a regular hospital room. If the truth be told, this uncomfortable recliner was the most restful place he’d been in the last two days. Ray dozed off and on and when he was awake, he was unusually subdued and not interested in talking. Welsh was definitely enjoying the peace and quiet. At least, he was until these two idiots stormed into the room.

The Duck Boys dumped their load of clothing onto Ray’s bed, practically covering the patient in a mountain of scarlett, muskrat fur, boots and a perfectly round Stetson hat.

Welsh’s ire was partially quelled when he saw what they had brought. He noted that there were two red serge tunics in the pile. His attention was drawn to one of them. This one was small, much too small for the broad shouldered Fraser. He slowly fingered the insignia on the collar of the uniform. It was the rank of RCMP Inspector.

“My God... why would he take their clothes?” he murmured to himself.

It had been over twelve hours since Ray had been moved into a regular room and this was the first time he had been allowed to sit up. He was quietly sipping water through a bendy-straw when Huey and Dewey bolted into the room. Carefully, he put the plastic cup down on his nightstand when something caught his eye on the bed. He slowly reached forward and picked up a large brimmed felt hat, reverently running his hand around the brim as he had seen it done so many times before.

… so many times before.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing? You can’t come storming in here with these … things,” Welsh started out yelling at his errant detectives, but finished in a whisper as he quickly realized what he was about to say. “That’s evidence in a possible murder investigation, detectives.”

“Sorry, sir,” Huey said in contrition. “I told him this was a harebrained idea.”

“What idea?”

“Dewey thought it might trigger something in Ray’s memory if he saw Fraser’s uniform.”

Just then, the aforementioned Ray let out a groan and clutched both hands to his bandaged skull. 

Welsh was at his side in less than a second. “What’s happening, Ray? Do you need a nurse? Dewey, go get a nurse!”

“No, no! I’m fine. I’m fine.” He blinked rapidly and picked up the hat again. “This belongs to Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He’s my partner and my best friend … and he’s missing.” He looked up and made eye contact with the three men in the room. “I need to find Benny.”

Ray started ripping out IV lines and monitoring cables and disconnecting himself from the myriad of other instrumentation the hospital staff had attached to him.

He looked up at his co-workers in dismay. “Somebody needs to help get me out of this bed.” Ray was struggling with the gates on the side of the bed, trying to push them down, to no avail.

Welsh tried to ease Ray back into the bed, but the feisty detective refused to take no for an answer.

“You don’t understand, Lieutenant. I need to talk to that bastard, Bolt. He knows where Benny is and I’ve got to believe he’s still alive.” Ray sank back into the bed in frustration.

Welsh spoke soothingly, “Ray, Randal Bolt is in a coma. He can’t talk to anyone.”

Just then, Melvin, the intern, ran into the room. He stopped and put his hands on his knees in an effort to catch his breath. It was probably more exercise than he normally got in an entire day. He finally gathered enough air into his lungs to deliver his message. 

“Bolt’s awake! He came out of his coma five minutes ago.”

Without another word, Welsh pulled down the bed gate and helped Ray stand. They started for the door.

“You can’t go like that, Detective!” the little intern exclaimed as he pointed to Ray’s hospital gown which was flapping open in the back. 

Dewey grabbed Fraser’s red serge coat from the bed and handed it to him.

“I don’t think Fraser would mind if you wore this,” Dewey said solemnly.

“Thanks, man.”

 

oOo

“She shot your dog?”

“Technically, he’s a half-wolf, but yes. She shot Diefenbaker.”

This woman never ceased to amaze him. After finally explaining his tale of love and betrayal with Victoria Metcalf, he expected Inspector Thatcher to point out his many derelictions of duty and lapses of personal conduct. He did not expect her to show such genuine concern about his pet.

“I think that’s appalling, Ben. You realize that your records don’t reflect what you just told me. They say that Detective Vecchio accidentally shot you while trying to prevent the escape of a suspect. There was no mention of you … leaving with the suspect.”

Ben rubbed his brow before replying. “I know. Leftenant Welsh and Ray conspired to … alter some of the facts in order that they might show a more favorable light. I only agreed because such alterations also cleared Ray’s records.”

His voice rumbled under her cheek. Meg was curled into his side with her head resting on Ben’s chest. It was the warmest position she could find. The sudden drop in temperature had made keeping warm almost impossible, even inside the sleeping bag. As it was, her entire left side, the side pressed against the ground, was numb with cold.

“It must have been horrible for you.”

“Well, the physical therapy helped.”

“I mean …” she lifted her head up to look into his eyes, “you loved her, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I did, but please note that my use of the past tense is intentional. I do not still love her. It was difficult, but lately… things have changed. I’ve started to have feelings about someone else.”

“Oh?” Her voice was hopeful, but with an undertone of helplessness. How could they be having this conversation now when everything was about to end?

“Yes, but there are … certain barriers.”

“What sort of barriers?”

“Of an institutional sort,” Ben said.

“I don’t see any barriers, not here, not now.”

Meg lifted herself up further until her face was hovering over his.

“Neither do I,” he replied as he lifted his head slightly until their lips met.

oOo

Ray entered the ICU on wobbly legs, but with a determined attitude. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have pulled out all the lines in his arms, particularly the one with the painkiller in it.

Little Melvin cleared the way for them and luckily, Sister Ignatia wasn’t on duty today. That little kid was starting to grow on him. He was a damn sight better than Henry Ford. Of course, that wasn’t saying much.

Bolt was surrounded by hospital personnel. They were checking his vitals, fluffing his pillows, getting him blankets. Ray thought he was going to be sick. This man was a cold blooded killer. He didn’t deserve to be treated better than a dog. Scratch that, he liked dogs.

Melvin, surprisingly, took the lead.

“Excuse us, but this is a police matter. Could you please let these men through?”

Melvin almost had to jump up to be noticed. Poor kid, thought Ray. If things did happened between him and Frannie, she’d be stuck wearing flats for the rest of her life.

Finally, one of the doctors looked up in annoyance.

“What are you people doing in here? This is the ICU.”

“Yeah, yeah. We know, Doc,” Ray answered while leaning heavily on Welsh. “Like the kid here said, we’re the police and this man has kidnapped two law enforcement officers. We need to talk to him.”

“I can’t allow that.”

“I’d like to see you stop me.” If Ray had had a mirror, he probably wouldn’t have made sure a brazen statement. He was barely upright, with a huge white bandage wrapped around his head, wearing hospital slippers and a hospital gown. The bright red mountie jacket he wore over the hospital gown made his skin look even more pale than it actually was, if that was possible.

“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.”

“Please,” Welsh implored, “two officers’ lives lie in the balance and Bolt is the only person who knows where they are.”

A weak voice from the bed settled the situation.

“Mounty… how?…”

Ray pushed his way past the hospital staff until he was staring down at the wasted face of Randal Bolt. Half of his face was completely covered in white bandage. He looked like a sterile parody of The Phantom of the Opera. Ray saw that movie when he was a little kid and he stayed up late with his cousin to watch the late, late, late show on the tiny black and white television in his parent’s basement. The scene where Claude Rains’ mask was ripped off gave him nightmares for weeks. The entire right side of his face was burned and melted into a hideous mish-mash of flesh.

Ray didn’t want to think about what Bolt’s face looked like under his bandages.

Bolt looked up at him with one wild blue eye. “How can you be here?” His voice was rough and scratchy. “I left you to freeze to death with that hot looking lady mountie.” He tried to laugh, but broke into a hacky cough instead. His throat was raw from the respirator and speaking, even at a whisper, was difficult.

Ray turned to look over his shoulder to see to whom Bolt was speaking. Then, he realized he was still wearing Fraser’s scarlet tunic and quickly decided he could use this to his advantage.

“Yes. Well, thank you kindly, Mr. Bolt,” Ray said in his best imitation of Benton Fraser. “You know the saying, we, Mounties, always get our man.”

Bolt blinked his one good eye and squinted at Vecchio. 

“Wrong word, hummingbird. Hello, Detective Vecchio, my third favorite law enforcement officer. I may not be seeing all that well, but my hearing is fine. And you, sir, are no more Canadian than Captain Kirk.”

Huey leaned over and said to Melvin, “But I thought William Shatner was Canadian.”

Without missing a beat, the intern nodded sagely, “Yes, but James T. Kirk was from Indiana.”

Welsh turned and eyed them critically. “Will you two shut up?” he whispered harshly. “Besides, Janeway was the one from Indiana; Kirk was from Iowa.”

“Okay, Bolt,” Vecchio started in his own Chicago accent, “let’s cut the crap. What do you want this time? Money in a Swiss bank account, a helicopter? What?”

“Everybody keeps asking me that. But the thing is, I don’t want anything. Well, that’s not entirely true. I do want those two Mounties to die… just like my brother.”

“What?”

“That’s right, Detective. Francis is dead. He froze to death while in solitary confinement.” 

Bolt almost sounded human when he spoke of his brother’s death. Almost.

He continued, “A man can not be free until he erases his mistakes. And I’m almost free.” He took in a deep breath and started coughing again, much worse this time.

A nurse tried to step forward, but the doctor motioned for her to wait. He obviously recognized the seriousness of the situation.

Ray grabbed Bolt’s hospital gown and yelled into the dying man’s face. “Where’s Fraser, dammit? You havta tell me. He’s a better man than either of us, so tell me! Where. Is. He?”

Bolt looked decidedly weaker, barely able to keep his eyes open. Still he managed to say with a chuckle, “Muskrat Susie, Muskrat Sam, do the jitterbug…” before all hell broke loose on the machines attached to him.

The universally recognized heart rate monitor alarm sounded and the medical staff pushed Ray out of the way as their rote training kicked in.

The doctor started chest compressions as a nurse put an oxygen mask over Bolts’ face. A technician bumped Ray with portable defibrillator as he ran into the room.

A kindly-faced older nurse gently pointed Ray and company towards the door.

“He’s not going to be able to help you anymore.”

oOo

Meg laid her head down on his chest, but now she was lying half on Ben and half off with one of her legs between his. His arm had slid around her waist and was now rested comfortably on her hip. She felt almost comfortable, cocooned as she was with his arm wrapped securely around her. After their heated kissing, she felt as giddy as a teenager, making out in the backseat of her boyfriend’s car.

“Wow, this is the warmest I’ve felt since this nightmare started.” Meg sighed and the warmth of her breath on his skin sent a warmth of a different kind surging through his body.

“Oh my, yes,” Ben agreed. Then, an inappropriate chuckle escaped his throat.

“What’s so funny, Constable?”

“Nothing.” His reply was much too fast.

“I know it’s something, so give.”

“It’s just… earlier… I suppose it was yesterday, although I’ve lost track of time, Francesca was talking…”

“Vecchio’s sister? That flamboyant brunette who has the hots for you? I’m not sure I want to hear about her when I’m about to die.”

“We aren’t going to die. I really need you to believe me.”

She nodded tersely. 

“Continue.” It sounded like an order from the Inspector, but Ben didn’t mind.

“She told me she had heard that … um… maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, after all.” 

“No way, mister. You can’t stop now.”

“Okay, she said there was a case where a man and a woman were trapped together in the cold with no way to keep warm.”

Meg arched an eyebrow. “Really? If I was a suspicious person, I would call her a person of interest in my investigation.”

“There is a bit of irony involved. Francesca said that they … um … made love to keep warm.”

“Really? So their lovemaking was a survival strategy?” She couldn’t help the smirk on her face.

“Apparently.”

“It could be worth a try. What do you think?”

“Inspector!” His shock was genuine.

“Would it be … so horrible? To make love to me?” Her voice had a edge of uncertainty to it.

“No. It’s not that,” he replied quickly. “This hardly seems like an appropriate place to start a relationship.”

“God, Fraser,” she said in frustration, “how can you have such limitless optimism? Can’t you get it through your thick skull that we are going to die? This is it. It’s now or never. This is the perfect place to start … and end a relationship.”

Maybe, she was right. Not that they were going to die. He refused to believe that. However, if they were ever going to take their relationship to the next level, perhaps now was the right time.

At least, she wasn’t ordering him to forget another kiss.

Ben inhaled deeply before coming to his decision. He reached his strong arms down and pulled her on top of him, noticing how cold her body felt even within the confides of the sleeping bag.

“A wise man once said to me,” Ben started, his voice full of emotion. “There are times between men and women when things…”

“...grow?” Meg remembered this spate of wisdom too.

“...yes... feelings.” He swallowed audibly.

“Enough said,” Meg finished for him as she brought her mouth down on his.

oOo

Ray slumped against the wall outside the ICU waiting, his adrenaline finally running out. Welsh paced back and forth in front of him, but Ray was too exhausted to tell him to stop. The Duck Boys stood talking excitedly over by themselves. 

“I’m telling you, Muskrat Love is the key to this whole thing, man,” Dewey said emphatically to his taller partner. “We’ve just got to figure it out and I guarantee we’ll find them.”

Huey looked skeptical. “I think you’ve got Muskrats in your belfry.”

“Naw, this is the answer. I just know it. Come with me; I’ll prove it.”

Grabbing Huey by his sleeve, Dewey pulled him down the hall, toward the exit. 

Back in front of the ICU, the kind nurse opened the door.

“I’m sorry, but the patient has passed.”

Ray’s hand slammed into the wall. “Damn, he was our only hope of finding Fraser,” as tears ran down his cheeks.

oOo

Some time later, a man and woman, who cared more for each other more than either of them knew, cried out together at the pinnacle of their lovemaking. Both of them had forgotten about the punishment for raising their voices until the sprinklers rained down gallons and gallons of icy water upon them.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Ford, Elaine, Francesca, and Diefenbaker strolled into the hospital and walked directly to the elevators. They had only made it halfway across the lobby when they saw a burly guard sitting at the security desk eating a large powdered donut. 

What was it with all the powdered donuts lately? thought Elaine.

The guard noticed them too and hopped to his feet, a cascade of white powder falling to the floor in front of him.

“Hey, you can’t bring that mutt in here! This is a hospital.”

Unfortunately, Diefenbaker had been watching the man’s lips when he spoke, so he understood immediately the insult and that it was directed at him. He bared his teeth and emitted a low growl deep in his throat.

“Dief! No,” called Elaine who was holding his leash.

Ford stepped forward to take charge. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he flashed his federal badge at the rent-a-cop.

“Agent Ford, FBI. This animal is a key witness in a criminal investigation and it is essential that we take him to Raymond Vecchio’s room.”

“He’s in Room 212,” added Francesca. “We need Diefenbaker to help Ray remember some facts in a critical case he’s investigating.”

“So what? The dog… is that a dog? … is some sort of therapist?”

“He’s a wolf,” clarified Ford. “Or rather, a half-wolf,” Ford clarified his clarification with a loud sneeze. It appeared that he was allergic to wolves or dogs or both. He made this unfortunate discovery in the car on the way over here from the zoo. 

“Then, hell, no! I ain’t lettin’ no wolf in my hospital.”

Rather than start a losing battle with this hairy neanderthal, the trio and Diefenbaker exited the hospital to consider plan B. First, they had to create a Plan B.

oOo

Welsh looked down the empty corridor after the nurse disappeared back into the ICU, taking note of the stark white walls and polished linoleum floor. He also noticed that Detectives Huey and Dewey were gone.

“Hey, where’d McDuck’s nephews run off to?”

At receiving no answer, the lieutenant turned back to check on Ray who had collapsed against the wall and slid all the way to that immaculately clean floor.

“Ah, Ray.” Welsh kneeled down to get a better look at him. “We need to get you some help. Stay here.”

“No, no. I’m fine, really. I just over did it. Get me back to my room. I’ll be fine.”

Welsh helped him stand. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. I need to rest up so we can find Fraser.”

Welsh looked on him with pity, but said nothing. After all this time, the lieutenant was just about ready to turn this rescue mission into a recovery operation. He didn’t honestly believe either of the two Mounties was still alive.

They managed to get back to Ray’s room without any drama. Ray received a couple of sideways glances at the red serge, but no one said anything. He helped Welsh gather up the Mountie uniforms so they could be entered into evidence back at the station. Ray paused when he realized he was holding Thatcher’s bra.

“What kind of sick game was Bolt playing, anyway?”

“We’ll never know now. There’s no one left to tell us,” Welsh answered solemnly.

“Not true! Not true!” shouted Ray, obviously upset at Welsh’s declaration. “You take that back right now, Lieutenant. Benny’s still alive; I just know it and if he’s alive, then so is the Inspector because he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

“Sorry, Ray, but I think we’re going to have to start facing some cold, hard facts here.”

“No, I can’t believe that.”

“Okay, Ray.” Welsh held both his hands out in front of him. “Maybe you’re right. I hope you’re right, but I need to get back to the precinct now. I’ll check with you later, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead Lieutenant, but let me know when you hear something.”

Welsh left with a curt nod and a bag of clothes. 

Ray eased himself back into bed and really wished a nurse would come by soon. He really missed that little morphine pump. He was back in the bed for thirty full seconds before a nurse popped through the door. Ugh, it was one of those perky ones.

“Good morning, Mr. Vecchio. How are yo…” She said in one long breath before actually looking at him and noticing that all of his IV’s were pulled out. The perky, cheerful nurse turned instantly into Brunhilda, understudy to Sister Ignatia in the ICU. 

“What the hell happened to your IV lines?”

Always a quick thinker, Ray had an alibi ready for her. 

“I had a horrible nightmare and I must have accidentally pulled them out while I was asleep.” Then, to add a little punch to the tale, he added, “I was dreaming about my accident and how that crazy killer hit me with his van.”

“Oh, you poor man…” She started to reconnect the IV lines and was being particularly gentle in doing so. “There you go.” She picked up a cylinder shaped device with a small button on one end. The nurse pressed it into Ray’s palm. “They explained to you about the PCA pump, right dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He held up the plunger to demonstrate to her. “I push this little button,” he pushed it as he spoke, “and instant relief.”

“That’s right. Now it’s on a timer, so if you press it again too soon, it won’t do anything.”

“Got it.”

Patient-controlled analgesia (PCA) was a computerized pump that safely permitted the patient to push a button and deliver small amounts of pain medicine into their IV line. The PCA pump was programmed to give a certain amount of medication when the patient pressed the button. It would only allow the patient to have so much medication, no matter how often they press the button, so there is little worry that they would receive an overdose.

Ray was relieved when she finally left and he could get some sleep. He’d be no use to Fraser in this state. 

Ray gave the morphine pump a quick click and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Then he gave up waiting and pressed the button three more times. He knew he wasn’t getting anymore medicine, it still made him feel better to exercise that little bit of control. It was like pressing the elevator button over and over again to make the car get to your floor faster. It didn’t actually do anything, but it made you feel better anyway.

oOo

Ray was sleeping the sleep of the heavily sedated and loving every minute of it when something large hit the bed with a jolt.

“Ow,” a familiar male voice groaned. “I can’t see a thing in these glasses.”

“Wha…” Ray said as he came awake and looked around the room, bleary eyed and confused.

There stood Elaine, Francesca, and Agent Ford standing at the foot of his bed. He was immediately drawn to Ford and not just because he hated the man’s guts, either. Ford was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and holding a cane in one hand and a leash in the other.

“Who are you supposed to be, Henry? Corey Hart or something?”

Ford tilted his head to the side in confusion. He had no idea that Corey Hart was a Canadian singer who released the hit single “Sunglasses at Night” in 1984. In 1984, Ford was huffing and puffing his way through the FBI Academy at Quantico and even if he wasn’t in boot camp, he probably wouldn’t have listened to it unless it would somehow further his career.

Francesca took pity on Ford and reached over and carefully removed his sunglasses. 

“It’s the sunglasses, Hank,” explained Francesca. To her brother, she explained, “Hank was pretending to be blind so we could sneak in Diefenbaker.”

“A deaf dog leading a blind man. That’s a classic,” commented Ray as he pushed the button to raise his bed to a sitting position.

Diefenbaker took that opportunity to spring onto the bed and start licking Ray’s face.

“Hey, buddy. Now you, I’m happy to see,” Ray managed between swipes of Dief’s long tongue. He looked back at Ford and saw that the cane was actually a blind person’s cane and had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

“Hang on a minute. Let me get this straight… the great, all-powerful Agent Ford had to pretend to be blind in order to sneak a half-wolf into a hospital? Your magical badge couldn’t get you past the security guard?”

“Ray, be nice,” urged Francesca, “Hank’s just trying to help.”

“Do you have any tissues?” asked Ford as he held his hand to his nose, trying to stifle a sneeze. 

Elaine passed him the box of rock-hard hospital-issue tissues and he excused himself to the bathroom.

“He’s allergic to Diefenbaker,” added Elaine, unnecessarily. “But he is trying to help.”

“Yeah, about that,” Ray said as he absentmindedly petting Diefenbaker who had made himself comfortable by settling himself onto Ray’s chest. “Not that I don’t appreciate it or anything, but flowers would have been enough. You didn’t have to bring me a seventy-five pound wolf as a get-well present.”

Francesca, who sat with one hip on the bed, slapped Ray’s leg. 

“No, you big dummy. Ma said you were having problems with your memory and we thought Diefenbaker could help jog things loose.”

“I think I’m already loose enough in the memory department, but I appreciate the effort. Seriously, I remember everything now, but where’s this big guy been all this time.”

“You won’t believe it, Ray,” Elaine told him. “We found him at the zoo. He was picked up by Animal Control near the Port District, close to where the accident happened. They didn’t know what to do with him, so they took him to the zoo.”

“Wow, you had quite the adventure, didn’t you fella?” Ray said a pitch of voice slightly higher than normal.

Diefenbaker looked directly into his face and yipped quickly for ten seconds or so.

“Fraser? You know where he is?”

Of course, I do. He’s part of my pack. It’s my job to take care of him.

“Is he okay? What’s going on?”

He and his female were alive when I left them, but we should hurry.

“Ray, you need to keep him quiet. They’re going to kick us out,” Elaine said loudly, trying to talk over Diefenbaker’s frantic yips and yaps.

“Good! I want to be kicked out.” Ray, once again, ripped the lines out of the arm and got out of the bed, forgetting briefly how much pain this caused. 

“I gotta stop doing that,” Ray groaned.

Then, looking down at his bare legs, he exclaimed, “Damn it! I need some clothes.”

oOo

Melvin stood in the broom closet clad in only his boxers and white t-shirt, but he was the happiest intern in the hospital. He touched his cheek and swore he could still feel her touch.

Francesca Vecchio had kissed him! Well, technically it was just a peck on the cheek, but it was still awesome.

And all he had to do was give her all his clothes.

oOo

The three humans and one canine walked boldly through the front doors of the hospital. They didn’t care if they got caught with Diefenbaker this time. No one seemed to notice anyway which was quite surprising. Ray was wearing Melvin’s green intern scrubs, the pants of which came to mid-thigh. To cover the large white bandage on his head, he wore a black watch cap that Frannie bought him in the hospital gift store. It was hard to believe anyone would want a souvenir hat which said Cook County Hospital.

Ford drove them straight to the site of the collision and everyone scrambled out of the car, refreshed by the breeze coming off the lake. The temperature was in the low thirties, but at least it wasn’t forty below zero anymore.

Ford wasted no time and quickly opened what looked like a briefcase to reveal a ruggedized computer system. He removed a device about the size of Ray’s cell phone and handed it to Ray.

“Here, attach this to the wolf’s collar,” Ford said while stifling a yawn. He had just loaded up with Benadryl to combat his allergic reaction to the half-wolf and he was barely able to keep his eyes open.

“You sure this will work?” Ray asked as he followed Ford’s instructions and attached the gadget to Dief.

“Of course. This is the latest technology from the Department of Defense.”

“Yeah, but those are the same guys who paid $600 for a toilet seat.”

“Well, this is different. This uses the Global Positioning Satellites which just came online a couple of months ago. With that receiver attached to the wolf, I can pinpoint his position to within twenty-five feet. See,” Ford pointed to a little blip on the computer monitor, “there he is.”

Ray looked at the screen, then looked at Diefenbaker standing right next to him, then back at Ford.

“I can see him standing right there with my own two eyes. I don’t need millions of dollars of wasted government spending to do that.”

“This is the wave of the future, Detective. I foresee a time when everyone will have one of those gadgets embedded under their skin.”

“I don’t know about under my skin, but I could see that it could be handy inside my cell phone. I’m always losing that thing.”

“That would be a frivolous waste of technology. The United States government would never allow it.”

“But they would allow the implantation of government technology under their citizens’ skin. That’s insane!” Elaine interjected. She had had just about enough of Agent Ford.

“Elaine, Elaine… calm down,” Ray encouraged. “We need to stay focused so we can find Fraser and Thatcher.”

“That’s right, Miss Besbriss, you should try to keep your eye on the prize.”

“Oh. You two are infuriating!” Elaine inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. “Okay, so I’m focused and I have my eye on the prize. Now what?”

“Now, we listen to Dief. Right, fella?” said Ray.

“Can you really understand him, Ray?” questioned his sister who only ever believed half of anything her brother told her.

“Yeah, it’s weird. I get that, but I really can. Must have something to do with this knock I got on my head.” Then, to the half-wolf, he directed, “Okay, Dief, lead the way.”

Diefenbaker, who had been waiting for the humans to shut up, took off like shot.

Ray shouted to the group, “Back in the car, everybody.” 

They all piled back into Ford’s government sedan. Elaine drove so Ford could operate his computer. Ray was consigned to the back seat with Francesca since he was still under the influence of narcotics and heaven help him when it wore off.

“Alright, Henry, let’s see what your gadget can do.”

oOo

Diefenbaker remembered exactly where Fraser was being held and he ran straight to it. Fraser was inside a large metal box, surrounded by hundreds of identical metal boxes inside a large metal building. Diefenbaker stopped near the hole where he had smelled his friend most strongly the last time he was here.

The hole was completely frozen over now and the half-wolf could barely detect his human anywhere. He whined plaintively and lay down next to the box, waiting for the other humans to find him.

oOo

“Turn here!” directed Ford as he studied the map and the small blinking white dot which represented the wolf.

Elaine jerked the car to the right and fishtailed around the corner.

“Jeez, Elaine. Frannie and I have been in enough crashes to last us awhile. Take it easy!” Ray yelled as he held on for dear life to the hand strap attached to the car’s roof.

Elaine turned around to look at Ray, but didn’t slow down the car.

“If Mr. FBI genius, here, wouldn’t wait until the last second to tell me when to turn, this would be easier.”

“Watch where you’re driving!” shouted Ford. “Wait, stop! Now!”

Elaine slammed on the brakes with both feet, skidding to a stop with a loud squeal and a large plume of burning rubber. If looks could actually kill, Ford would be lying dead in his seat.

“What the hell is wrong, now?” asked Ray.

“I’ve lost the signal.”

“What? How?”

“He must have gone into one of these buildings. It loses signal inside all that metal,” Ford said as he pointed to a section of industrial buildings with no less than five large warehouses, visible from the street.

Ray got out of the car mumbling about useless government toys and the other three followed.

“Okay, let’s split up. I’ll take this one,” Ray announced, pointing to the closest building, a large nondescript metal building, just like every other metal building on this street.

“Buddies,” called Elaine. “We need to stay with our buddies, not go alone.”

“Why?”

“It’s a Girl Scout thing. And it’s safer that way.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Then Ray stopped to look at Ford who was standing too close to his sister for comfort. “You,” Ray pointed at Francesca, “are coming with me.”

Elaine groaned audibly and trudged off up the street with Agent Ford.

Ray pulled open the large creaky door and Francesca followed him into the darkened warehouse. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving them in total darkness.

“Oh, great. Just great.”

oOo

Ford and Elaine had to walk two city blocks to find the entrance to their building. It was twice as large as the one Ray had chosen. Apparently, the lights were motion sensitive because hundreds of blinding fluorescent tubes hummed to life when they entered.

What they found inside was like candy to a conspiracy theorist which is exactly what Ford turned out to be.

Right in front of them was a large circular shaped object covered by a white sheet. Ford boldly stepped forward and tugged the material, which fell away like the reveal of a magic act.

Underneath was a stone arch with unfamiliar symbols spaced out evenly around the perimeter of the ring.

“What in the world is that?” asked Elaine.

“Not this world, Miss Besbriss.”

Elaine slowly backed away from both the ring and Ford. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was going until her back hit a something solid … and humming.

She turned around quickly and saw a rectangular wooden shipping crate sitting on a large pallet. In the center of the box was stenciled the following: 

TOP SECRET  
ARMY INTEL 9906753  
DO NOT OPEN!

Ford excitedly ran over to it and reverently placed his palms flat on the surface of the box. 

“Wow! Can you feel that? It’s vibrating, like it’s alive.” 

Ford’s voice was full of glee. Elaine wasn’t sure what worried her more, a creepy humming box or a gleeful Agent Ford.

“I don’t think you should be messing with that.”

“This isn’t supposed to be here, you know.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” she countered.

Ignoring her, he continued, “I think we’re in Hangar 18, except it’s supposedly in Nevada.”

“Aren’t we supposedly looking for Fraser?” Elaine said, trying to get him back on task.

“Right,” he replied, but he made no move to resume the search. “Did you know there’s a project office in DC that investigates this sort of thing? I tried to get on there a few years ago, but they put this crazy guy in charge of it. Mulder was his name. If you ask me, I think they were just trying to get rid of him.” He pulled out a small notebook as he circled the crate.

She had had enough of him. “I’m going to look down this corridor, okay?”

Ford replied from behind the crate, “Sure, honey. Whatever you say.”

Elaine walked a few rows away from Ford and the humming crate and started to feel better. She pulled out her emergency flashlight from her purse and shined it this way and that, hoping to spot the deaf half-wolf. She wished she had thought to bring donuts with her. That would have flushed him out quickly.

She turned the corner and gasped at what she saw. Standing directly in the middle of the corridor was a huge wooden … coffin, twice the size of Ford’s crate. 

Coffin? Was it really a coffin? It sure as heck looked like a coffin. However, if that’s what it was, it must have been made for a giant, someone well over seven feet tall. 

She slowly started to circle the box. 

Box. If you don’t call it a coffin, then it’s not, right?

It was elaborately decorated with carved images, mostly battle scenes. However, they were like no battle scenes she had ever seen. The carvings showed vignettes of a myriad of human suffering surrounding a larger scene in the middle. Horrific creatures with six wings filled the heavens battling each other for supremacy. 

“Angels…” came unbidden to her lips.

Her own echo in the quiet space startled her so much that she dropped her flashlight on the concrete floor and it blinked out. Even though the building was lit with industrial fluorescent lighting, this part of the warehouse seemed particularly dark and dreary. Quickly, Elaine stooped down and retrieved her light, noticing for the first time that the floor was covered in dark, rich soil. Loam, she recalled from high school horticulture class, was the more correct term. The loam must have leaked out of the cof--- box.

Her hands began to shake as she tried to switch the light back on. This particular flashlight had been a present from her mother who was constantly worried about Elaine’s safety, since she was a single female living in the murder capital of the United States. This little baby had tons of bells and whistles, including an actual whistle. It also had three different colors of light: white, red and black. White light was obvious. Red was supposed to preserve her night vision. Black illuminated organic matter that one would normally prefer to not know about, including urine and blood.

Elaine accidentally flipped the switch to black and what she saw had her running for the exit without regard to the search for Fraser and Thatcher.

Tiny worms wiggled frantically in the loam and bright patches of … something … lit up like the 4th of July. 

This time when she dropped the flashlight, she didn’t stop to retrieve it.

She also didn’t stop to listen to Agent Ford’s exciting discovery of a blue London police box in the corner of the building. 

She pulled both of them back out into the sunlight of the street and only then did she calm down enough to notice that her cell phone voicemail was chirping loudly at her.

TBC  
Author’s Notes:

Okay, I’m as surprised as you are … if you’re still reading. I really thought they would find our Canadians in this one, but these characters had other ideas. Plus, they made me write two pages of completely anachronistic crap when Elaine and Ford went into the warehouse.

So I gotta explain all my references in case you didn’t get them.  
The arch with symbols on it was the Stargate from Stargate SG-1.  
The crate which said DO NOT OPEN was the Ark of the Covenant from Indiana Jones.  
The coffin was from The Strain by Guillermo Del Toro which just ended its first season on FX. I highly recommend it.  
The blue police box needs no explanation. 

I promise they will be found in the next chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

It only took Francesca ten seconds to find the light switch in the pitch black warehouse. She attributed it to her innate womanly instincts, the same ones that allowed her to instantly locate the ladies room in any building within five seconds of entering said building.

“My God,” exclaimed Ray, “this place is huge.”

“Ray…” Francesca said, letting her voice rise at the end of the word. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Depends.”

“Do you think they could be inside one of these containers?”

The warehouse was filled five high and infinitely wide and deep with Conex boxes. There must have been over a thousand containers in this warehouse. 

Ray’s eyes grew wide. He hadn’t actually been thinking that at all. 

“But there must be a thousand containers in here. How are we ever going to find them?”

“Shh, listen,” said Francesca as she raised her finger.

“There!” exclaimed Francesca, “Hear that?”

There was a faint whining noise in the air, but the way sound bounced off the cavernous space, it could be coming from anywhere. Before they could think about it further, a deep voice bellowed out at them.

“What the hell you two doin’ here?” a stocky man, wearing a bright yellow hardhat yelled at them. “Don’t you know this is a hard hat area?” 

He wore a security guard uniform, complete with sidearm and billy club. The shining silver nameplate attached to his pocket read “A. Parks.” The man approached Ray and Francesca slowly with his hand on the butt of his handgun resting snugly in his black, leather holster.

Ray reached for his badge, only to remember that he wasn’t wearing his own clothes. He was wearing Melvin’s green scrubs which made him look like an escapee from a lunatic asylum, a lunatic asylum which didn’t bother to ensure their inmates’ clothes actually fit them.

Ray held his hands out in a non-threatening manner. “Sorry, man. We’re with the police and we’re searching for two missing police officers. It’s possible that they are being held in one of these containers.”

“Are you crazy? Nobody can get in these things. They’re locked up tight. We can’t even open ‘em. Plus, this is a secure area. Nobody can get in here without us knowing about it. I oughta know; I’m the head security guard here.”

“Okay,” Ray nodded his head in agreement, “we must have the wrong warehouse.”

They were just about to leave when an ear-splitting howl filled the warehouse and a huge smile filled Ray’s face.

“Diefenbaker.”

oOo

After Ray and Francesca agreed to wear hard hats, Mr. Parks helped them find the half-wolf. They found Diefenbaker in the exact middle of the warehouse, lying next to a metal container which looked like every other metal container in the warehouse… except for one thing.

There was a small grey device taped to the door.

A bomb.  
“What the hell is that?” the guard asked no one in particular as he shined his flashlight on the object. “This shouldn’t be here.” 

“Don’t touch anything!” Ray warned. Then, he turned to Francesca. “Frannie, go call 911.”

Neither of them had a cell phone signal this deep inside the warehouse and Francesca took off running towards the door.

oOo

Two hours passed before the explosives technicians cleared the container to allow Ray and the paramedics back inside the warehouse.

The Bomb and Arson Division officers had defused the device and also unplugged an electrical cable which appeared to be powering the refrigeration unit inside the box. Only a simple padlock was left and Ray quickly disposed of that with a pair of borrowed bolt cutters from Parks.

Before entering, Ray said to his sister, “Frannie, hold onto Diefenbaker, okay? I don’t want him in here yet.”

The wolf had become almost inconsolable during the interminable wait.

Francesca curled her hand tightly around Dief’s collar. “Okay, Ray. I’ve got him.”

Then, he quickly removed the rest of the lock and flung open the door. The warehouse wasn’t heated, so it was a bit chilly especially for Ray who was still wearing short-sleeved scrubs. Therefore, it was a huge surprise when a blast of frigid air came floating out of the container.

Mr. Parks handed Ray his Maglite and stepped back from the open container. Parks’ bravado had quickly disappeared when the plume of frigid air came wafting out of the box. He had heard about the body they’d pulled from the lake a couple of days ago and he was none too anxious to find more, especially inside his warehouse.

Ray accepted the light, but was surprised by the weight of the thing. It was one of those huge 4 D-sized ones and must have weighed over a pound. He didn’t understand why Parks needed a billy club if he had this thing. 

“Alright, boys,” he said to the two EMTs who flanked him, “Let’s go.”

Ray shined the Maglite into the box and immediately halted the beam of light on a large, body-sized shape on the floor. He gingerly stepped into the container … and almost fell flat on his back. The entire floor was coated in ice. It was like walking on a hockey rink.

“Ray?” Francesca called from the door. Diefenbaker was pulling toward the container and she had to use both of her hands to hold onto him. Francesca was secretly relieved to be out here with the wolf though. If the truth be known, she couldn’t stand the thought that Fraser could be...

“Stay there,” he answered his worried sister. “The floor’s slippery, but we’re okay. It’s solid ice in here.”

Carefully, they shuffled over to the shape which Ray now realized was a sleeping bag. He quickly shined the light around the room, hoping to find a second bag, to no avail. This had him worried. If only one of them was here, then where was the second. Also, which one was here in front of him. 

There was no movement within it and it was also covered in a thick coating of ice. Puzzled, Ray briefly glanced up and saw sprinklers mounted to the ceiling of the container.

“That bastard,” mumbled Ray. If Bolt wasn’t already dead...

Looking back at the sleeping bag, Ray reached out a shaky hand and touched it. It was completely rigid, but he could see the zipper through the transparent ice. Using the back of the flashlight, Ray hit at the ice near the zipper, causing it to fall away in large sheets. 

“Dief, wait!” Francesca called out.

“Stay back, Frannie. Mr. Park, close the door, but don’t come in. We’re fine,” he called out in one long breath.

He suddenly felt very protective over his sister and didn’t want her to see whatever was waiting inside that bag.

The wolf bounded inside and made a beeline for Ray. He slid to a stop near to the sleeping bag and looked to Ray for some direction, tilting his head to the side and watching Ray’s lips intently.

Ray looked back to Diefenbaker. “I honestly don’t know, buddy,” Ray replied to the unasked question as he nervously pulled at the frozen zipper.

It gave way after a few tugs and Ray pulled the zipper all the way to the bottom of the bag, afraid of what he might see when he looked inside. Diefenbaker whined again.

“I know, I know.”

Ray pulled back the material of the sleeping bag and what he saw completely confused him. He expected to find either Benny or Inspector Thatcher, but not both of them, and not so ... close … or so ... naked. The latter thought was ridiculous in retrospect because he had seen their clothes thrown across his hospital bed not five hours ago, but still. 

Seeing them locked together like this, frozen in death, that was hard to take. It was even harder for Diefenbaker who pawed gently at his master, licking his face and continuing to whine.

Ray absently patted the wolf, but didn’t try to stop him. He slumped down on the frozen floor next to Diefenbaker, not knowing what to do now. 

“Go ahead, boys,” he directed the paramedics, “but I think we’re too late.”

“Wow,” exclaimed one of the EMTs, “I guess if you gotta go, that’s a hell of a way to do it, right?”

“Hey!” exclaimed Ray. “You watch your mouth. Constable Benton Fraser was the finest officer I’ve ever served with.”

There was little doubt that they were dead. Fraser lay flat on his back with his frozen hands resting on Thatcher’s hips. The Inspector was lying on top of Fraser and they looked … well, they looked connected. Thatcher’s head was buried in the crook of his neck, turned away from Ray. Benny’s face, like the rest of him, was completely blue and cold, but had a odd air of peace about it. His blue skin looked waxy and stiff, not even human.

“Sorry, man. I didn’t realize,” apologized the medic as he started unpacking his instruments.

“I don’t think there’s much we can do,” said the other medic stoically.

Ray slowly pulled the sleeping bag back over them and sighed. He had to hand it to Benny. That EMT was right. If he was going to die, he had to admit this was a hell of a way to go. For even though he couldn’t tell for sure what they had been doing in their last minutes of life, the evidence seemed awfully damning. He never liked the Inspector and could never figure out Benny’s odd attraction to her, but there was no denying she was a beautiful woman. 

It was a hell of a way to go.

Ray stood and slowly walked back to the door. Diefenbaker had stopped and was lying down next to the bag. Ray left him to his sad vigil. 

Francesca didn’t like the look on Ray’s face. He was standing in the doorway, blocking her view of what lay behind him. He was far too quiet. His eyes were rimmed in red and he was swallowing repeatedly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

The EMTs passed by Ray wordlessly and she couldn’t wait any longer.

“Ray?” she asked cautiously, “what’s going on? Weren’t they in there?”

Ray stepped completely out of box before replying.

“Um, yeah. We found them, but...” he swallowed slowly and Francesca could see he was fighting back tears, “But, there’s no hurry. We … um …that is, I … didn’t find them in time.”

oOo

Ray didn’t want to be here, but he also didn’t want to leave. He was trapped. 

He and Francesca were standing outside the warehouse where they had met back up with Elaine and Agent Ford. Ford was even more incoherent than normal, babbling about aliens and shit. Elaine was his polar opposite, quietly standing off to the side and not talking about anything she saw their warehouse.

An hour ago, the street had looked like a four alarm fire had been called in. There were fire engines, ladder trucks, ambulances, police cars, the bomb squad and more than one battalion chief who looked like they were ready to rumble to figure out who was in charge. 

Now, however, everyone had left except for a couple of uniformed officers who had set up the parameter to keep out nosy onlookers.

The crime scene techs had been inside for thirty minutes. Ray was only waiting around for the ME to show up. Then, he knew they would bring them out. He wasn’t sure why he thought he needed to be here for that. Ray just thought that if he left Fraser in there, he would be abandoning his friend a second time.

Surprisingly, Lieutenant Welsh had answered the call and would be in charge of this investigation, himself. Ray wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. The big man looked almost as emotional as Ray felt.

He had recovered admirably since the others had shown up. He and Frannie had cried their respective hearts out after the EMTs left. Fraser was his best friend, as odd as that friendship had been, and Fraser was Frannie’s… Well, he wasn’t quite sure what their relationship was. He didn’t actually think there was one, despite what Frannie would sometimes insinuate. He honestly thought that Fraser was too much of a gentleman to sleep with his baby sister.

Dr. Gustafson lumbered out of his county vehicle and inhaled deeply. At least the weather was warmer than a couple of days ago. However, after this week, he had decided he was going to let his minions handle the crime scene duties. He would be much happier to just stay back at the Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office. Even though the squat three story concrete building was a bit too pedestrian for his tastes, it was better than schlepping all over the city.

Let them come to him. That was his new motto. After today...

As he approached the building, Gustafson recognized Detective Vecchio. He remembered him because of Puccini's Gianni Schicchi. Unbidden, he started humming the aria which always made him feel better.

“Ah, Detective Vecchio,” Gustafson greeted Ray. “I’ve been trying to reach you with the results of the autopsy of the victim from the lake.”

In all that had happened recently, Ray had completely forgotten about that poor woman in the lake.

Chagrined, Ray said, “Sorry about that, Doc. I’ve been busy.”

“Well, I wanted to tell you that the tattoo which generated so much interest from the Canadians was, in actuality, fake. It washed right off, once we thawed her out.”

“Hmmm,” Ray replied, trying to appear interested when he could care less about that case under the current circumstances.

“You may find this hard to believe, but I suspect this was an attempt to lure the Canadians into something nefarious.”

“You don’t say.” Ray’s words sounded calm, but if you knew him, you would see he was seething just below the surface.

Lieutenant Welsh showed up just in time to stop Ray from physically attacking Doctor Gustafson.

“Doctor!” Welsh said excitedly. “Let me take you inside.”

“You’re not going without me,” Ray announced as he started to follow the other two.

Welsh looked like he wanted to protest, but thought better of it and said nothing. The three men disappeared into the building, leaving Francesca and the others awkwardly standing around with nothing to do.

“Did anyone tell you how they were found?” Ford prompted with a lecherous lift of one bushy eyebrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Elaine.

“Yeah. Anyway, Ray found them. You know that,” Francesca reminded them.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, this fireman said the Mounties were as they say in Rome, in flagrante delicto.”

“What?” Francesca asked, not understanding his meaning, but starting to worry about what he was talking about. He couldn’t possibly mean…

Elaine couldn’t take anymore. 

“You idiot! First!” she held one finger up in Ford’s face, causing him to back up slightly. “They speak Italian in Rome, not Latin. Second!” She popped up a second finger and Ford visibly flinched. “How dare you spread rumors about them? Fraser was our friend. And while I never particularly cared for Inspector Thatcher, you have no right to say those things about them.”

“She’s right, Hank. Benton would never sleep with that woman. I mean really… if he turned me down, do you really think he’d have anything to do with her?”

Elaine made no comment, but she smiled to herself while she was tallying up the money she was going to collect. It was over a year ago when Francesca had been flaunting herself about the station, insinuating that she and Fraser had been intimate. Well, it was more than insinuating. It was more like bragging rights. The station odds makers had quickly started taking bets and as far as she knew, no one had collected yet. Not only that, she was one of the few who bet that Fraser had not succumbed to the fiery Italian.

Oh God, what was she thinking? Fraser and Thatcher had just died. She couldn’t start collecting on a bet now. How could she even be thinking such a thing? She would wait a week and then collect.

oOo

Gustafson was infuriatingly slow. Even Ray who, technically, was still a hospital patient was faster than the elderly doctor. Ray could tell Welsh was also frustrated with their pace and took Gustafson’s heavy medical bag to help speed things along.

Finally, they arrived at the container which was now cordoned off with yellow police tape indicating an active crime scene. The doctor was breathing heavily and had to stop and lean on the door to catch his breath.

Ray took the opportunity to look around, trying for clinical detachment. He failed. Large flood lights illuminated the area and made it brighter than outside. Technicians in white Tyvek suits roamed around with cameras and tape measures. Even though Ray knew what to expect, the business-like nature of this investigation turned his stomach.

“Alright, I’m ready,” Gustafson announced as he straightened himself and rose to his full height.

“Right this way, sir,” Welsh ushered the older man into the container.

Dr. Gustafson lumbered over to the sleeping bag and was allowed an unobstructed view of the naked Mounties. His brows rose slightly, but other than that there was no reaction on his part. 

He dropped his bag and slowly slid down to his knees, groaning when he realized the floor was wet. The ice had finally melted and was slowly flowing away down the drain in the middle of the room.

He slowly pulled out a flashlight and examined Fraser’s face. He couldn’t see Thatcher’s due to their positioning.

“Hmmm,” he hummed to himself as he worked, “Pulse is nonexistent; pupils unresponsive … but what’s this? Hmmm, how curious…”

“What is it?” asked Ray. “What’d you find?”

“Take a look at his right cheek,” Gustafson shined the light on Ben’s face. “Is that my imagination or is it slightly pink?” He touched it with his gloved hand. “It doesn’t feel as waxy as the rest of his body.”

Ray saw what the doctor was talking about.

“Diefenbaker, his wo-- dog, was licking him there.” Ray indicated the proud animal who was watching them all with an intense gaze.

Gustafson started rummaging through his large black medical bag, digging all the way down to the bottom, until he emerged with an old stethoscope.

“Ah, here it is. In my line of work, I don’t use this thing very often, you see.”

Carefully, Gustafson was able to slip the chestpiece between the two Mounties and onto Fraser’s chest. 

“Everyone quiet, please.”

Gustafson listened intently as seconds ticked by.

Then, faintly, he heard a tiny sound--a single thump, so slight that it might have been the sound of the doctor’s own blood. He closed his eyes in concentration.

Another faint thump, then another.

Finally, he pulled away and, with the help of Lt Welsh, rose to his full height before reporting his findings.

“There’s a saying among doctors who work with cold weather injuries. You aren’t dead until you’re warm and dead.”

Ray pushed his way forward. “What are you saying, doc?”

“I’m saying that there’s a chance we could revive them.”

TBC

Author’s Notes: Yay! They’re not dead. Like anybody really thought I would kill off my main characters. Drop me a review to tell me how ridiculous this plot is.

Thanks


	15. Chapter 15

Now it was Ray’s turn to pace around in a waiting room. He was a horrible patient, but surprisingly, he was an even worse family member. The seats were terrible, worse than the ones they made suspects sit in at the station. No matter what he did, Ray could seem to get comfortable. 

“Ray,” Welsh asked kindly, “why don’t you go back to your room? You could lie down and rest for a while. I’ll let you know when something happens.”

“I can’t do that, Lieutenant,” Ray replied as he tried, once again, to sit on these horrible chairs. “I need to be here for him. Plus, if I go back in that room, they’ll probably strap me to the bed so I don’t escape again.”

They had been waiting for almost an hour when both men sprang to their feet at the sound of the doors swinging open. Intern Melvin breezed through the doors. Ray noted that he was wearing a “Property of Cook County Hospital” t-shirt and sweats. He probably had to buy them in the same gift shop his skull cap came from. At least the kid wasn’t naked.

“Detective Vecchio!” Melvin said with a smile on his face while he eyes quickly scanned the room, as if looking for someone. “I’m glad to see you up and about, sir.”

“She’s not here, Mel,” Ray deadpanned. “She went home to take a shower, but she’ll be back soon.

“Oh, I wasn’t…” he started to say, but realizing that it was useless to pretend, stopped talking.

“So, Mel… Are you here to shoot the breeze, or what?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m here to tell you about the two Mounties. First of all, they’re alive. Dr. Gustafson is a genius. Did you know he interned at world renown Universität Zürich?”

“I did not know that, Melvin,” Ray replied with sarcasm dripping from his mouth. “But what does that trivial bit of knowledge have to do with anything?”

“Oh, they do hundreds of profound hypothermia cases a year. We do, maybe, five. In other words, Detective, he is saving your friend’s and his girl friend’s lives.”

“She’s not his girlfriend,” Ray said quickly, shaking his head. 

“Oh, well, you see...” Melvin started to say, but stopped quickly when he saw a sharp warning look from Lt. Welsh.

“Will they be okay, Doctor?” asked Welsh, hoping to steer the conversation away from the awkward topic of Fraser’s relationship with his boss.

“It’s still too early to tell. They’re listed in critical condition, but they are improving. The last thing we want to do at this point is warm them up too quickly. Dr Gustafson has them lying on a special mattress filled with warm water. The perfusionist just arrived and she’ll be connecting them to a cardiopulmonary bypass machine in a few minutes.”

“A what?”

“A machine that pumps out their blood, warms it, oxygenates it, and then, pumps it back in again. This will safely raise their core temperature as much as three degrees every three minutes. I’ve been authorized to keep you up to date as often as I can.”

Ray patted Melvin on the back. “Good work, Mel. I gotta say, right now, you’re in the lead in my book.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. That means a lot to me.” A brilliant smile spread across Melvin face. “I’d better get back inside now,” he said as he rushed back to the operating room.

Before Ray and Welsh had a chance to digest what they had learned, Detectives Huey and Dewey came rushing into the waiting room. Dewey was carrying a large shovel and Huey had a stack of rolled up parchment in his arms.

Dewey was excited beyond words.

“I knew Muskrat Love was the key to solving this thing. Well,” Dewey announced as he struck the floor with the blade end of the shovel, “I was right.”

Huey, always the more logical of the two, added, “You really need to hear this, Ray. It’s amazing.” Well, he used to be the logical one.

“Yeah,” Dewey said, nodding vigorously. 

Ray and Welsh were just watching them in silence. They didn’t really know what to say, but they were pretty sure they weren’t going to like what they were about to hear.

“Alright, here goes,” Dewey started. “So Muskrat Love was a ballad about two muskrats, Sam and Susie. They’re obviously Fraser and Thatcher. The song goes…” Dewey pointed to Huey who looked embarrassed. “Just remember, Jack, this is going to save their lives and you are a much better singer than me.”

Huey sighed and started singing in a very quiet voice.

Muskrat Susie, Muskrat Sam  
Do the jitterbug out in muskrat land  
And they shimmy  
And Sammy's so skinny 

“Right,” agreed Dewey, “Sam is skinny because they haven’t had any food for a while. They shimmy because they’re trapped in a tight space, and Fraser is the only one who can get out because … he’s so skinny! Get it.   
Now, we need to look to the origins of the word muskrat for our next clue. Muskrat comes from the Abenaki word 'mòskwas'. The Abenaki are a tribe of Native Americans who live mostly around Lake Champlain, so that has to be the Muskrat Land as mentioned in the song. And who lives in Lake Champlain?” asked Dewey rhetorically.

“Champy, of course,” Huey provided the answer because Ray and Welsh could care less. “America's Loch Ness monster.”

“Right! Now, the coordinates of Loch Ness are,” Dewey paused and motioned to Huey.

Detective Huey scrambled with his collection of paper and starting unrolling a crinkled piece of parchment. It was an old map and Lieutenant Welsh raised a brow wondering where these two managed to find it. It appeared to be quite old.

“The coordinates of Loch Ness,” Dewey repeated, “are 57.3000° North and 4.4500° West, but if you flip the North and West, you end up in Suriname, South America.”

“But hang on, guys,” Huey encouraged, “this is when it gets really interesting.

“Right,” agreed Dewey, as he continued, “but first, we need to look at more of the lyrics…” Dewey signalled Huey who rolled his eyes, but sang, nonetheless.

Muskrat Susie, Muskrat Sam  
Do the jitterbug out in muskrat land

Ray had to admit that Jack Huey had a nice voice, sort of a combination of Motown and Southern Baptist. It was a shame he was wasting it by singing such a lame song.

“Thanks,” Dewey said. “Now, the term jitterbug was popularized in 1934, by Cab Calloway's song, 'Call of the Jitterbug'. Calloway was born in Rochester, New York which has a Lat/Long of 43.1656° North and 77.6114° West.” 

Huey was ready this time and whipped out the correct map in record time. Dewey paused for dramatic effect while Ray and Welsh watched them with numbed expressions on their faces.

“Now, if you subtract Loch Ness from Rochester and add the difference to Lake Champlain’s location of 44.5333° North and 73.3333° West, then you get 30.3989 North and 146.4944 West, which is located in the north Pacific ocean, which is, of course, the largest body of water in the world. Now, this is when it gets really interesting, guys.   
“The largest natural body of water in North America is Lake Superior, but since the 'love' between the muskrats is clearly based only on physical attraction, we can take this to mean artificial love, so we need to find the largest artificial body of water in North America. Are you with me?”, he asked, trying to gage his audience.

Ray and Welsh said nothing, but that didn’t seem to slow Dewey down.

“That would be Manicouagan Reservoir in Canada, which was originally formed by a meteor impact crater, an astrobleme. The first asteroid to be discovered, Ceres, was found in 1801 by Giuseppe Piazzi, and was originally considered to be a new planet. Ceres was the Roman goddess of agriculture, based on the greek goddess of agriculture, Demeter. Demeter was the evolution of Themis, the titan of Greek mythology associated with divine law. Now, the common symbol for justice, the scales, dates back to Ma'at, who was the embodiment of the ancient Egyptian concept of truth, balance, order, law, morality, and justice. Ma'at was included in the funerary texts, commonly known as the Book of the Dead. This book was given to pharaohs to ensure they would make it safely to the afterlife. And what do you think of when you think of pharaohs?”

Welsh and Ray, once again, said nothing. Ray did yawn, however.

“Pyramids, man! And we all know what pyramids mean, right? Pyramids equal triangles equal … Illuminati. The Illuminati were founded in Bavaria and Bavaria was affected by the depression in the 30s which is why they joined with the rest of Germany. The depression was lessened in the US by the New Deal plans, including the building of the Hoover Dam. Now the Hoover Dam stands out from all the other projects because it had a controversial name choice. It was named after former President Herbert Hoover, who was unpopular because he was blamed for the depression. Hoover created Rapidan Camp as his Camp David in Shenandoah National Park, a site which has wetlands and therefore … muskrats.  
“In conclusion, all the clues in the song point to Hoover Dam as the location where Fraser and Thatcher are being held…”

“The maintenance tunnels under the main structure, to be specific,” Huey elaborated for his partner.

“However!” Dewey said with a maniacal glint in his eye, “Bolt would have known that we could figure out his clues, and would have hidden them someplace else!” He was becoming more and more excited. “...someplace he, as a white supremacist, and therefore a lover of everything American, especially baseball, would know by heart. That’s right,” he encouraged, as if waiting for Ray and the lieutenant to fill in the blank.

When the shorter detective realized that they weren’t going to say anything, he continued to the big finale.

“It’s Wrigley Field! Specifically under home plate, and he thought he would win this little battle of wits.”

Both of the Duck Boys were grinning from ear to ear.

Dewey held the shovel aloft. “We brought shovels. Let’s go dig them up!”

Ray turned and walked away from them. Over his shoulder he called to Welsh, “Lieutenant, I’m going to see if they’ll give me my old room back. I need a nap.”

oOo

Fraser’s stiff limbs began to relax. His pulse edged up. Even so the jagged line of his heartbeat flashing across the EKG screen showed the curious dip known as a J wave, common to hypothermia patients.

"Be ready to defibrillate," Gustafson warned the EMTs, “especially the female. I’m a little worried about her.”

They were separated now, lying side by side on identical mattresses filled with warm water. For the next hour, nurses and EMTs hovered around the edges of the table where the Mounties lay centered in a warm pool of light, as if offerings to the sun god. They checked their hearts. They checked the heat of the mattresses beneath them. They whispered to one another about the salacious position in which the two were found.

Slowly the patients responded. Their blood pressures remained far too low, brought down by the blood flowing out to the fast-opening capillaries of their limbs. Fluid lost through dehydration had reduced their blood volume. However, with the intervention of the cardiopulmonary bypass machine their temperatures rose another degree. The immediate danger of cardiac fibrillation lessened, as the heart and thinning blood warmed. 

For the next half hour, two EMTs quietly called out the readouts of the thermometer, a mantra that marked the progress of these cold-blooded proto-organisms toward a state of warmer, higher consciousness.

"90.4...

"92.2..."

oOo

From somewhere far away in the immense, cold darkness, Ben heard a faint, insistent hum. Quickly, it mushroomed into a ball of sound, like a planet rushing toward him, and then it became a stream of words.

A voice was calling his name.

He didn’t want to open his eyes. Ben sensed heat and light playing against his eyelids, but beneath their warm dance a chill welled up inside him from the sunless ocean bottoms and the farthest depths of space. He was too tired even to shiver. He only wanted to sleep.

"Can you hear me?"

Ben forced his eyes open. Lights glared overhead. Around the lights faces hovered, seemingly floating in a void. He recognized his father and wondered if he had finally joined him in the afterlife. He was standing next to another Mountie, an elderly man. Ben had never seen this man before, but for some reason, he seemed familiar.

He tried to think, but was having problems focusing.

"You're at the hospital, Constable Fraser."

Ben tried to nod, but his neck muscles felt rusted shut, unused for years. They responded to his command with only a slight twitch.

"You'll probably have amnesia," the voice said.

He didn’t understand that at all. He remembered everything. Every second of his time with Meg…

Where was Meg? Was she alright?

"We're trying to get a little warmth back into you," the voice continued.

He tried to nod, but couldn’t move. All Ben felt was a throbbing discomfort everywhere. Glancing down to where the pain was most biting, he noticed blisters filled with clear fluid dotting his fingers. During the long, cold hours, Ben knew that the tissue would have frozen, ice crystals forming in the tiny spaces between his cells, sucking water from them, blocking the blood supply. He stared at them absently.

"I think they'll be fine," the voice from overhead said. "The damage looks superficial. We expect that the blisters will break in a week or so, and the tissue should revive after that."

If not, he knew that his fingers would eventually turn black, the color of bloodless, dead tissue. And then they would be amputated.

Worry slipped from him as another wave of exhaustion swept in. Slowly, he drifted off, dreaming of chocolate colored eyes filled with warmth and silky brown hair that tickled his face as she moved over him.

Meg...

TBC

Author’s Notes: A special thank you to my daughter for that incredible bit of nonsense which made up Huey and Dewey’s explanation of Muskrat Love. It was awesome.


	16. Chapter 16

Three days passed before Ray could convince the nurses that he wouldn’t run away if he went to visit his friend, Benny. Now, his only problem was being allowed to go on the long journey to the third floor … alone. 

The nurses were very familiar with “The Case of the Frozen Mounties” as it was reported in the Chicago Tribune or “Two Days in a Sleeping Bag with a Naked Mounty” as it was reported in the less reputable Chicago Sun-Times. As a result they had all become Fraser groupies.

Ray was used to this phenomenon. However, normally the women (and a few men) had to, at least, meet him first. 

Even though Ray had permission to leave his room, he decided it was best to plan his visit for shift change when the nurses would need to talk to each other and pass on any pertinent patient details. Otherwise, he would have half the floor following him down the hall.

He knew there was no way he would make it to the elevator and he was near the stairs, so he decided it was worth the risk to haul his IV pole down two floors. There was no way he was going to pull out anymore lines. The nurses were starting to run out of place to stick him. Plus, it hurt like a fothermucker.

Ray had taken three steps when…

“Where do you think you’re going, Mr. Vecchio?” 

It was Broomhilda.

oOo

Ray, followed by Nancy Pearcey (which was Broomhilda’s real name), entered Fraser’s room five minutes later. She used her considerable influence to insure that Ray was allowed to leave his floor and no one followed him, except for Broomhilda, herself. She was a Fraser groupie too.

She also agreed to give him fifteen minutes alone with Fraser if Ray introduced them first. Ray thought she was going to swoon when she saw the Mountie in person. Luckily, they had the IV pole between them and she was able to grip on to it. 

Ray didn’t understand it. Sure. Normally, Benny was a good looking guy, but today, he looked liked crap. His hands were swollen with water blisters and his eyes looked like he’d gone five rounds in a boxing ring with a heavyweight champ. Broomhilda must be attracted to the myth that had grown out of the kidnapping and rescue, rather than the actual physical attractiveness of Fraser, himself.

If Ray could have gotten his hands on which ever paramedic had sold out to the media, he would have made sure that guy never parked his car within the city limits of Chicago ever again. His car would be covered in so many parking tickets, the man wouldn’t be able to see to drive it. This guy described in great detail how they were found and how long it took before the hospital was able to separate them, plus other details which were actually just wild speculation, like Thatcher’s bra size. While there were no actual photographs, in some ways the artist conceptions were worse.

Broomhilda leaned over and whispered to Ray, “He’s beautiful. Thank you for letting me meet him. I’ll leave you two alone now.”

She quickly started for the door.

“But you didn’t actually meet him,” Ray called to her.

“That’s okay. I really just wanted to see him.” She let out a sigh as she let her eyes linger on Fraser’s sleeping form. “Thanks again. And don’t stay too long, You both need your rest.”

After the door closed, Ray turned back to Fraser and saw that his eyes were now open.

“Hey,” Ray called to his friend as he approached the hospital bed. “Hiya doin’ buddy?”

“Is she gone?” Fraser mumbled through swollen, chapped lips.

“Who? Broomhilda?” Ray thumbed back towards the door.

He nodded, swallowing slowly before replying, “Yes, the nurse. Whenever they come in, I pretend to be asleep. It’s easier that way.” His voice was a raspy whisper.

It wasn’t that long ago that Ray had awaken after his surgery, so he was familiar with how Benny was feeling. He shuffled awkwardly with his IV pole to the bedside table and filled the cup there with water and inserted the standard hospital bendy straw. 

“Here, buddy. Take a sip,” Ray said as he held the cup for Fraser.

“Thank you kindly,” Fraser said after a long draw on the straw.

“Mouth feels like cotton -- worse than a hangover.” Ray sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hey, look at the two of us --- we match.” Ray pointed to their matching collection of intravenous lines running into their bodies. “So, how you doin’, Benny? ‘Cause I gotta say you look like crap, warmed over.”

“I believe I feel better than I look.”

“That’s something.”

“How’s Me--, Inspector Thatcher? I’ve asked the nurses, but they only blush and change the subject. Very peculiar.”

“She’s still in ICU. Her heart stopped twice when they were rewarming you two.”

“I need to see her,” Fraser said firmly, accompanied by trying to sit up straighter and failing. 

Ray placed his right hand, the one without any IV lines, on Fraser’s arm.

“Sorry, man. No one’s allowed to see her right now. Something about trying to protect her immune system. You’re just going to have to wait.”

“You don’t understand, Ray. I l---”

“Stop! Don’t say it. I’m not ready. I can’t hear that right now.” Diefenbaker had already told him enough when he was leading the rescue.

Ray should have realized something had changed in the two Mounties’ relationship when Diefenbaker had referred to Thatcher as Fraser’s ‘woman’. However, he was too caught up in the search at the time to give it much consideration.

And now… now, he just didn’t want to hear it.

oOo

“Why won’t she see me?” Fraser asked with an uncharacteristically pathetic lilt to his voice. 

“I’m sorry, Fraser. She’s refusing all visitors,” Ray tried to explain. 

Ray had been released five days ago and had come back to the hospital today to help his best friend who was finally being released today.

“Cheer up. You’re getting out of here today. This is a time for celebrating.”

Fraser’s IV lines had been removed and he was wearing regular street clothes, blue jeans and a plaid shirt. Although he appeared much better physically, he looked so depressed that it hurt Ray to see him in such a state. 

“I don’t understand what’s happening, Ray. We spent a lot of time together while we were trapped. We …” 

Ray cringed at what was coming.

“... talked. We talked about everything. Did you know she wanted to be a lawyer or that her grandfather was a Mountie?”

“Fraser, buddy… Quit tearing yourself up over this. Sometimes people act differently when they don’t think they’re going to live long. I mean just look at Hans Solo and Princess Leia.”

Fraser was ready to continue the argument, but Ray’s Hans Solo comment pulled him up short. Ray thought the statement was completely self-contained and needed no further explanation.

Silence filled the room.

Finally, Fraser asked the obvious question, “What are you talking about, Ray?”

“Hans Solo and Princess Leia from Star Wars.”

“I am familiar with the two fictional characters. Even though the villages I lived in as a child did not have a movie theater, I saw the trilogy when I was training at Depot for the RCMP. It was a revival showing and some friends and I went to see it. However, I fail to see the relevance of those characters to my current situation.”

Ray sighed as he started his explanation.

“Okay, I know that the last movie made it seem like they lived happily ever after, but that sort of thing never lasts. Hans and Leia only met because they were fighting the Evil Empire. They had no real basis for a relationship. They were thrust together in this survival situation without the foundations for anything real. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Ray, I believe you are trying to reference the two-factor theory of emotion. It states that emotion is based on two factors: physiological arousal and cognitive label.” 

At Ray’s blank expression, Fraser continued, “Let me explain an experiment conducted to try to prove this theory. In this experiment, they had male participants walk across two different styles of bridges. One bridge was a very scary suspension bridge, which was very narrow and suspended above a deep ravine. The second bridge was much safer and more stable than the first. At the end of each bridge an attractive female experimenter met the participants. She gave the participants a survey to fill out and a number to call if they had any other further questions. The idea of this study was to find which group of males were more likely to call the female experimenter. The results found that the men who walked across the scary bridge were most likely to call the woman, asking for a date. This was most likely due to the arousal they felt from walking across the scary bridge. They had misattributed their arousal from the bridge towards the woman, making her seem more attractive. Strangely, when asking the males why they called the woman they all had reasons for why they called her. Some said it was because of her attractive face, body, and eyes. Yet, none of the participants attributed their feelings to the bridge causing arousal, therefore causing the experimenter to become more attractive.”

“That’s it!” Ray exclaimed, clearly understanding and taking to heart the explanation. “That’s exactly what happened in Star Wars and that’s what happened to you and the Dragon Lady in that icebox.”

“Not in the least, Ray,” Fraser countered. “The Inspector and I have … a history. This theory assumes no prior relationship between the participants: the man and the woman on the bridge or Princess Leia and Hans Solo. That isn’t the case with us. If your theory is to be believed, we should have jumped immediately into bed together after the incident on the train.”

Ray raised his brow skeptically at his Canadian friend.

“No, Ray. We did not.”

“But in that icebox…” Ray hedged.

“That was different … and highly personal.”

“I think now would be a good time to tell you about the media storm surrounding your kidnapping and rescue.”

“Media storm?”

“Yep,” Ray pursed his lips and proceeded to explain what all of Chicago and most of the US and presumably Canada had heard about their ordeal.

Fraser’s face visibly paled as the the explanation continued and he slumped down onto the bed in defeat.

“On the bright side, there was a horrible nor'easter in New England this week. Tens of thousands of people without power, planes grounded, roads closed. The entire northeastern section of the country is completely shut down.”

The delight on Ray’s face completely confused Fraser. 

“And this is a good thing?”

“Absolutely! People have the attention span of a gnat. Now that the storm is occupying the headlines, they’ve completely forgotten about you and your tête-à-tête with the Inspector.”

“I wish you wouldn’t refer to our relationship so callously, Ray. I feel very strongly about her.”

“Well, maybe she doesn’t feel the same way,” Ray interrupted. “You ever think of that. Maybe … she thought you were going to die, so it didn’t matter what she said and what … actions she took. But, now! You two survived. She’s had a chance to rethink this … mutual attraction of yours. Maybe … she thinks to herself, ‘What am I doing thinking about a relationship with a mere Constable? Who, by the way, is under my command.’”

Fraser made a face as if he had been physically stuck and Ray was the one who threw the punch.

“Ah, hell… I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what I’m talking about. You know me, I’m not the brightest guy around, right?”

Fraser silently picked up the clear plastic bag the hospital had given him and started slowly walking towards the door.

“I’m ready to leave now. Will you still give me a ride to the consulate?”

“I’m sorry, man.” Although he felt like dirt for hurting his friend, Ray was 100% certain that he was right and that woman was just using him.

TBC

 

Hope you’re still enjoying this story.


	17. Chapter 17

“Please, Mrs. Vecchio…” 

“Ma. Call me, Ma,” the vivacious Italian woman insisted.

Fraser started again. 

“Please, Ma… while I appreciate your excellent cooking, I simply can’t eat another bite.”

‘Ma’ Vecchio stood next to Fraser’s chair at the dining room table with another platter of pasta in her hands. She would have placed it on the table, but there were already so many plates, bowls, platters and and containers of food scattered about on the table that it was as full as Fraser’s stomach.

She stiffened immediately at his words.

“If you don’t like my cooking, you should just say so. Don’t pretend to like it when you don’t.”

With that pronouncement, she retreated back to her kitchen with the pasta bowl still in her hands.

“Oh, my.”

Ray, who had been sitting at the other end of the table, sighed. “Don’t worry about it, Benny. She’ll forgive you as soon as the next meal rolls around.”

“Ray, I can’t possibly eat another bite. I’ve already eaten an entire lasagna plus all the sides. Plus, I need to leave.”

“What!” Ray exclaimed dramatically as he rose to his feet and approached Fraser. “Are you trying to kill my mother? Why don’t you just take a steak knife and stab her in the back? It would be kinder.”

He casually reached over and picked up a serving spoon and crammed a large mouthful of gnocchi into his mouth.

“God, I love this stuff.”

Fraser looked a bit green as he pushed away from the table.

“I need to return to work tomorrow. Please explain things to your mother.”

Fraser left the room and headed to Ray’s room where he had been sleeping for the past five days. When Ray picked him up from the hospital, the Vecchios had showered him with affection and insisted that he stay at their house. Mrs. Vecchio’s definition of affection was to overwhelm Fraser’s digestive system with a hearty helping of old country Italian cooking. 

At first, it was a welcome treat for him after a week of hospital food. Now he was ready for a two or three day fast. Diefenbaker, on the other hand, was loving it. The half-wolf looked like he had gain ten pounds and Fraser felt like he had gained twenty.

He also desperately needed some time to think and he couldn’t do that here. With Ray, his mother, two sisters, one brother-in-law and three children living in the house, it was little wonder Fraser needed some time for himself.

Curiously, Francesca’s usual overabundance of affection had been surprisingly absent during his stay. It was a very welcomed absence. For most of his time here, she was completely preoccupied with a young intern she had met at the hospital. Fraser wasn’t sure how that had happened, but he looked forward to hearing more from Ray when they were alone ... as if that could ever happen in this house.

Fraser had just finished putted his few possessions into a duffle bag when Ray waltzed through the door. 

“Okay, so here’s what I’ve worked out for you,” he announced as he back-flopped onto the bed. “She’ll forgive you for that monumental breach of etiquette… IF you take all that food home with you and promise to eat it.”

“I can’t do that, Ray. It would spoil before I could finish it.”

“Freeze it. Her lasagna will last six months in the freezer.”

Fraser nodded his agreement and his freedom was set.

oOo

Fraser had one arm inserted up to the elbow in his right high brown while vigorously polishing the toe of the boot. He was almost out of the special shade of mahogany polish. Since it was no longer available commercially, he would have to make a batch soon. 

Ben sighed in contentment. No matter the stress of the day, the oily smell of shoe polish always made him feel better. To make things even better, his father was conspicuously absent. He knew it wouldn’t last long especially when he started mixing the new polish. Not surprisingly, Fraser Senior always thought his recipe was better. Since his release from the hospital, Dad had been at his side almost non-stop. Fraser suspected that his father was overjoyed he hadn’t joined him in the afterlife. Of course, Sgt Fraser would never admit those sorts of human emotions to his only son.

As much as he appreciated his best friend’s family, the relative silence of this tiny apartment was a welcomed change. Tomorrow would be his first day back on duty and he had forgotten how much he missed the routine of preparing for the day ahead. Fraser also genuinely missed his job. Ray was a different story entirely. He was on mandatory recuperative leave for the next three weeks and tomorrow he was booking a cruise to the Bahamas. After hearing of Ray’s tenacity in finding them, Ben had never felt more grateful for his unlikely friendship with the high-handed detective. 

This quiet time also gave him a chance to think about Meg. Now that they had survived their ordeal, he wasn’t sure where they stood in their relationship. He wasn’t even sure there actually was a relationship on which to take a stand. Meg’s refusal to see him at the hospital had him completely perplexed and wounded. The fact that she refused visits from everyone did not lessened the hurt.

“She's not coming, son.”

Fraser lifted his head to see his father standing at parade rest a few feet from the table. 

“You don't know her,” Fraser snapped.

“Neither do you.” Came the snap right back at him.

“I'm in love with her.”

“Doesn't mean you know her.”

“Did you know Mom? I mean, did you know who she really was, or did you know what you wanted her to be?”

“Do you realize this is the wrong conversation and the wrong woman, son?” Fraser Senior moved to sit down at the table and tried to pick up the tin of polish to examine it. His hand kept passing through the container until the older man gave up and folded his hands together.

Fraser looked baffled. “What?”

“You’re confused about your emotions. This is the conversation we had last year about that Victoria woman. This isn’t about your Inspector. I like her. You’re imagining me all wrong.”

“My God, you’re right. We’ve already had this conversation.” Fraser put down the polishing rag and started to really listen to what his father was saying.

“Meg Thatcher is a formidable woman. And you’ve seen her in all her many facets. You’ve seen her when she was angry; you’ve seen her when she was frightened; you’ve seen her when she was brave and yes, you’ve seen her when she was petty.”

“What’s your point?”

“Well, knowing all these things about her… how do you feel about her now?”

“I love her.” There was no hesitation in his voice.

A soft knock on his door brought an end to his conversation with his father as the older Mountie vanished. Fraser couldn’t fathom who could possibly be there so late in the evening, but Diefenbaker didn’t even lifted his head, so Fraser knew no danger was near. The half-wolf had been particularly protective of him since his release from the hospital. 

He opened the door to see Meg standing nervously in the hallway. She looked pale and thin, but still beautiful. He realized that he had looked the same when he was first released from the hospital, before Mrs. Vecchio had started fortifying him with solid Italian cooking. She was dressed casually in an open navy peacoat, jeans and a soft blue blouse and looked as far from a stern RCMP Inspector as one could possibly get. Yet, her face was drawn with worry.

“Meg … I mean Inspector,” he stumbled over her name and opened the door wider for her to enter. 

She didn’t move.

“I thought you were still in the hospital.”

“I was released this afternoon. I just came to say good bye,” she said quietly.

“But you’ve just arrived,” Ben said and immediately wished he hadn’t. He sounded idiotic.

“I’ve been recalled to Ottawa.” She paused and worried her bottom lip. “I leave tomorrow. There’s going to be a conduct hearing.”

“A conduct hearing? Why?”

“Apparently, Ottawa reads the Chicago Tribune. The article about how we   
were … found … raised some questions.” 

“But they can’t seriously...”

She tried to remain completely detached, but the sincere look on his face caused her resolve to waver. He stood in front of her, wearing his jodhpurs with the suspenders pushed off his broad shoulders. She could see he was wearing his old-fashioned red flannels underneath. A powerful longing for the closeness they shared while imprisoned by that maniac hit her squarely in the heart, nearly overwhelming her. 

“Oh, Ben…” She crumbled into his arms and he quickly pulled her into his apartment, closing the door behind them.

After a few seconds, he realized she was shaking and started rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hoping the friction would help warm her.

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m always cold. I haven’t been warm since we shared the sleeping bag.”

He turned her hands over to examine them. The skin on her palms was pink and unnaturally smooth, lacking the distinctive ridges of fingerprints. His looked the same. 

“Your hands are healing nicely. Is there anymore damage?”

“No. The doctors had no explanation for why though. I was exposed longer and I have a smaller body mass. They say it’s a small miracle.”

“The fingerprints should reappear soon. Mine are already coming back. Ray said this would be a perfect time to commit a crime. It would be hard to trace us.”

“According to Ottawa, I’ve already committed one.” She exhaled shakily.

“Talk to me, please. What’s going on?”

She sniffed once and suddenly, the Inspector was back in control. She pushed him away quickly, albeit gently, and drew herself up to her full height.

“Ottawa contacted me while I was still in the hospital. That’s why I refused to see you. We can’t be seen together. And that’s why I waited until now to come talk to you.”

“That is ridiculous. They can’t possibly hold it against us for what happened in that cargo container.”

“Not us, Ben. Me. They’re holding me accountable. I’m the superior officer. You’re my subordinate. You only did what you were told to do.” She looked at him pointedly. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Constable?”

“No. No, I don’t. What I did, I did of my own free will.” 

She stepped closer to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, causing a tremble of emotion to pass through both of them.

Their eyes met and she swallowed hard before continuing. “I don’t know if I’ll be coming back. It - it doesn’t look good. But you have to promise me that you will tell them it was all my idea … if they ask you. I don’t know if they’ll call you. I’ll try to keep you out of it.” 

“I won’t lie.”

“I could order you.”

“You ordered me to forget our kiss on the train. I disobeyed that order too.”

“I’m not arguing about this, Ben.” Meg sighed in resignation as she looked fleetingly about the small, barren apartment. “I’m afraid they won’t let me come back. I don’t know what will happen.”

This was a vulnerable side of Thatcher that Ben had never seen before. It tugged at a part of him he normally tried to keep hidden and he pulled her into his arms again. 

“Please,” he said as he kissed the top of her head, “stay with me tonight.”

She brought her arms around him, as though she never meant to let go despite her contention that she was leaving in the morning.

She hesitated. “I shouldn’t. What if Ottawa finds out? I don’t think there’s any hope for my career, but yours could be ruined.”

“I don’t care about my career. I never have, but I do care about you.”

Meg responded by twining her arms around his neck, pulling his head down so his lips met hers. Her lips brushed feather-light across his mouth. 

With a groan and a fierceness he didn't know he possessed, Ben engulfed her mouth in a bruising kiss. With one hand holding the back of her head and the other holding her by the waist to pull her close to him, he deepened the kiss. 

TBC

Author’s Notes: So I was looking at the scene between Fraser and his dad in Victoria’s Secret.  
Robert Fraser: She's not coming, son.   
Fraser: You don't know her.   
Robert Fraser: Neither do you.   
Fraser: I'm in love with her.   
Robert Fraser: Doesn't mean you know her.   
Fraser: Did you know Mom? I mean, did you really know who she was or did you know who you wanted her to be? 

It seemed to fit in beautifully with what was going on here.  
Did anyone recognize the lines before the reveal?


	18. Chapter 18

Twelve weeks later…

“So I say we let that guy stew over night, then he’ll…” Ray stopped talking  
mid-sentence when he realized he was standing on the sidewalk in front of the station explaining his excellent strategy to Diefenbaker. Not that Diefenbaker wasn’t an excellent sounding board, but Ray thought he was talking to Fraser.

Turning around, Ray saw that Fraser was holding the door for what looked like a tour group of nuns who were entering the police station.

Ray lifted both hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Fras.”

One of the nuns heard him and replied as she walked through the door, “Precisely, young man.” 

After all twenty-three had entered the building, Fraser finally let the door close and joined Vecchio who was now sitting impatiently in his latest Rivera.

“Are you finished?” Ray was tapping his hand on the steering wheel.

“Yes, Ray. Thank you for waiting. Curiously enough, they are from British Columbia and they found $5,000 in a paper bag which was left on their tour bus.”

“It took twenty-three nuns to turn in one bag of money.”

“Moral support, Ray.”

“Whatever…” 

He put the car into drive and pulled out into a typically busy traffic day through the windy streets of Chicago. The previous Buick Rivera was totalled beyond repair by Bolt’s giant white van. It was truly amazing how many of these classic cars were still around. The detective sincerely hoped this one would last longer than the last one. When Ray came back from his three week tropical cruise, Fraser had solemnly presented him with the new vehicle. The Mountie felt responsible since Ray had been looking for him when the accident occurred.

“So, is the car meeting your expectations?” Fraser hedged.

Ray never took Fraser for someone who would fish for compliments, but when it came to this car, he just wouldn’t stop.

“It’s great, Fraz. Really great.”

“Oh, good,” Fraser said, the relief evident on his face. “You know I found it in an old barn in Manitoba and it…”

“... had only been driven by a little old lady to go to church on Sundays,” Ray took over the recitation. “You know you’ve only told me that story, like a hundred times already.”

“Well, I just wanted to make sure you liked it.”

“It’s fine, Fraser.”

And it was. It had low milage and a sweet suspension. Painted the exact shade of lime mist as the previous one, this car had quickly become his favorite. Equipped with only an AM radio, as it would be sacrilegious to deviate from the Original Equipment Manufacturer’s specifications, Ray sincerely believed that this radio picked up more stations and had a purer sound than any of his previous Rivs. 

Of course, he wasn’t going to tell Benny any of that. He was going to let him wait just a little bit longer. After all, it was Fraser’s fault that now three of his precious cars had been destroyed.

Spring was in the air as the wind blowing off the lake attested. It was a welcoming harbinger of the new season. Migrating birds were returning from their winter sojourn in the south. Tulips were blooming … and quickly being blown away by the incessant wind. And next week, Chicago’s most famous snowbirds were returning from Florida --- the Chicago Cubs’ were coming home. Opening day was next Wednesday. 

Unfortunately, all these signs of life did nothing to help his quiet Canadian friend. Fraser had been down in the dumps since Thatcher mysteriously disappeared after being released from the hospital. In fact, two weeks after she vanished, Ottawa sent a new Consulate Liaison to take over. 

Fraser had quietly packed away Thatcher’s personal items and placed them in his closet as if he expected her to walk back in any day. Even though Ray never believed she was coming back, for Benny’s sake he really wished it would happen. As much as he disliked Thatcher, the new boss, Inspector Palin, made Thatcher look like a kitty. 

Sarah Palin was a thousand times worse than Thatcher. At a petite five feet, two inches, she seemed to have a chip on her shoulder as tall as she was short. While Thatcher never seemed to run out of silly errands for Fraser to complete, Palin seemed to revel in ways to humiliate him. 

A slightly overweight woman of fiftyish, Inspector Palin once ordered Fraser to accompany her to a diplomatic function as her date and then after fawning over him for most of the night, dumped the Mountie for a mid-level European diplomat. At first Fraser was thrilled to be done with the rouse, but then he received a frantic phone call from her instructing Fraser to bring her three packets of condoms from the closest pharmacy. And not just any condoms, she wanted only a specific brand, “Trojan Ultra Ribbed, for Her Pleasure”. Poor Fraser had to go to three stores before he found them.

Another time she had him pick out two Valentine’s Day neckties for her to give as gifts: one for her husband in Ottawa and one for her lover in Montreal. He was also tasked with writing the notes which accompanied the gifts.

No wonder he moped around all the time waiting for Thatcher to come back.

“So, like I was saying before the Sound of Music invaded, I think we should let Jenkins stew in lockup until tomorrow morning. A night on the city’s tab will loosen his tongue. Plus, I got an appointment with Motel Molly after lunch. I think she’s got digs on this guy.”

“Ah yes, I remember meeting Ms. Molly at Christmas. As I recall, she had an engaging personality.”

“Nah, that was Holly, not Molly. I remember because it was so close to Christmas. Anyway, I think you’ll stick out like a sore thumb there, so I’ll go see her alone, if that’s okay with you.”

“Not a problem, Ray. I have some reports to work on for the Inspector.”

“I bet.”

Ray pulled over to the curb about half a block from the Canadian Consulate and slapped the car into park. He decided to try one final time to convince Benny to give up this crazy idea that Thatcher would ever come back to Chicago.

“Look, Benny, I don’t mean to be cruel or anything, but you really need to get on with your life. She’s been gone for over three months now.” There was no need to specify which ‘she’ he was speaking of. “Come with me to Francesca's wedding this weekend. You have no idea how many desperate… I mean, eligible, women go to these things. You’ll have a good time. Trust me.”

Fraser worried the brim of his Stetson around in his hands as he stared blankly out the windshield. “I don’t know, Ray. I might be…”

He stopped talking abruptly and stepped out of the Riv and onto the sidewalk, staring transfixed at the front of the Consulate. Ray turned off the car and ran around to join him. Diefenbaker, disturbed from his sleep by the doors slamming, bounded out of the car window to join the two humans on the sidewalk.

“What’s up, Fraz? You see somebody jaywalking or some other dastardly crime being committed or something?”

“Do you see what I see, Ray?” Fraser turned to face Ray with a bright smile on his face, a smile Ray hadn’t seen in quite some time.

Ray squinted down the street. “If you see a tiny little Mountie standing guard in front of the Canadian Consulate, then yeah, that’s what I see.”

Fraser started to run like a perp being pursued by an anxious rookie toward the Consulate. 

Ray hurried to catch up. “Right. You said you were expecting someone to replace Turnbull.” 

Constable Turnbull had taken the smart way out and transferred to a remote detachment in Kazakhstan. He knew a loony boss when he saw one.

Ray squinted at the guard standing as still as the General John Logan Memorial statue in Grant Park. He wouldn’t be surprised if a pigeon landed on this Mountie’s head. “But he looks like a kid,” Ray observed.

“No!” shouted Fraser, “She is definitely not a boy, Ray.” He bolted toward the Consulate at top speed with Diefenbaker hot on his heels.

Fraser bounded to a stop in front of the small Mountie dressed crisply in the red serge dress tunic and tightly belted Sam Brown. The iconic Stetson sat squarely on the head of… Margaret Thatcher.

“Holy Mother of God!” Ray gasped when he caught up with Fraser. “Inspector Thatcher! What the hell are you doing standing guard out here?” Ray exclaimed loudly.

Thatcher did not move. Thatcher did not blink. In fact, if pressed, Ray would have a difficult time verifying that she was even breathing. It had been awhile since Fraser stood guard here and Ray had momentarily forgotten that the Mountie on sentry duty wasn’t allowed to talk. After all, Thatcher, herself, had sentenced Fraser to this duty on numerous occasions.

“I must admit that I, also, am quite surprised to see you here.” Despite the formality of his words, Fraser had an unabashed delight in his voice and a huge smile on his face.

Diefenbaker took sentry duty on the ground beside Thatcher. He sat down next to her at rigid attention. 

“Yeah, myself… I can’t wait to hear all about this one,” added Ray. He was about to sit down on a bench to wait when the large church clock from down the street started tolling. 

Bong, bong, …

It was noon and the count to twelve was excruciatingly slow.

Bong, bong, bong,…

Ray decided sitting was worth it after all. He plopped down on the bench behind Thatcher..

Bong, bong, …

Fraser didn’t seemed bothered by the wait and continued his one-sided conversation.

“Have you met the new Inspector? I gather from your current position here that you have indeed met with her.”

Bong, bong, …

“She’s a far cry from the previous Inspector, and not an improvement for the better, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Bong, bong, …

“Perhaps we could discuss her further over a cup of coffee.”

Bong.

Fraser raised his hand to her and Thatcher graciously stepped out of her stance as if they were about to begin a waltz. A huge smile graced her lovely face and Fraser beamed back at her with a matching grin.

“Ben! I’m so happy to see you.” She was nearly bursting with joy.

“Meg. I’ve missed you so much.”

Diefenbaker relaxed and lay his head down between his paws to wait for his humans to finish reacquainting. 

They were holding both hands together and swinging them back and forth unconsciously. Ray thought he was going to be sick.

He cleared his throat to get their attention. 

“I’ll catch up with you later, Benny. I’m supposed to be watching my sugar intake. Uh, nice to see you again, Inspector.”

She shook her head and corrected him, still with that inane smile on her face. “It’s not Inspector anymore, Detective.” 

She let go of Fraser’s hands and touched the left shoulder of her uniform where the imprint of a crown could still be seen on the now bare epaulet. 

“How’s that?” Ray asked in confusion.

“I was demoted to constable for…” she lowered her voice slightly before continuing, “abuse of authority and fined three months salary.”

Those words didn’t mean much to Ray, but Fraser looked like he was ready to beat the crap out of someone. 

“I can’t believe they did that.” Ray hadn’t heard that much venom in his friend’s voice a quite a while.

“Why didn’t you just quit?” Ray asked what he thought was a logical question.

Both of the Canadians turned to look at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Mounties don’t quit, Ray,” Fraser answered for her.

“Why don’t we all go for coffee and I’ll explain?” Meg offered sincerely. Looking back towards the building, she added, “But we should probably leave before The Hydra spots us.”

“Ah, I see you’ve already discovered Inspector Palin’s nickname,” Fraser said.

“Yes, it’s not as catchy as Dragon Lady, but I suspect you didn’t create this one,” she added with a nod to Ray.

As much as he wanted to learn how Thatcher ended up back in Chicago, the last thing Ray wanted to do was watch these two love-sick Mounties make goo-goo eyes at each other.

“Why don’t I drop you two off at the diner and Benny can catch me up later? I got a date with a hooker on 14th.”

“He means an informant, Meg.”

“I gathered as much.”

“We’d love a lift to the diner, Ray”, Fraser said.

oOo

“This is perfect, Ben. I love it.” 

Thatcher’s adoration came as a surprise to Fraser who thought the place looked like a dump. This was Ray’s favorite diner, but it left much to be desired.  
It was a rundown American diner, complete with vinyl covered red bench seats, formica tabletops, and a lingering odor of grease in the air. 

“It’s much better than where we had coffee after that fiasco with the NAFTA summit,” Thatcher commented as she took a seat at a booth near the front of the diner. “Everything there was latte this or caffè that. Sometimes a simple cup o’ joe is all you need.”

Fraser slid into the bench seat across from her.

“You’ve changed, Meg.”

“Well, let’s just say I had a long talk with an old mentor of mine.”

“The superintendent from Moose Jaw?” He remembered how important he was to her and how important it was that Fraser find that rare bottle of scotch whiskey for him.

“No, Ben.” She leaned over the table and lowered her voice to a whisper. “My grandfather. His advice is much wiser than any living superintendent.” 

“Now, aren’t you two a pair with your pretty red coats? You look like the top of a gay wedding cake,” a buxom waitress with bleached platinum blonde hair asked while continuing to pop her gum. She then gave Fraser a flirtatious look and added, “Hiya doin’ Fraser? You want your regular, honey?”

“Thank you kindly, but no, Sylvia. Just a cup of coffee, please.”

She smiled widely at the tall Mountie and started to walk away.

“I’d like a coffee also,” Thatcher called to the waitress’ back.

Once they were alone, Ben asked about her grandfather.

“So your grandfather spoke with you openly.”

“Yes, it started in the hospital, then he just went back with me to Ottawa. If it weren’t for him, I don’t think I would have handled things as well.”

Fraser ran his finger nervously across his brow. “I never heard anything about it in the news or even from my few remaining friends in the RCMP.

“Oh, there was a complete news blackout on the whole incident. I was an embarrassment to the force.”

“They’re insane. You were and are a fine officer. I can’t believe they demoted you.”

“That was a compromise I agreed to. If I took the demotion to constable and didn’t go to the press, I could choose my next duty station. Of course, I think they were thrilled to get me out of the country.”

“You chose to come back here?” Surprise was evident in his voice.

She reached over and took his hand. “Of course, I did, Ben. I love you. I have for a long time, but I couldn’t admit it before, not even to myself.”

His mouth curled up into a full smile. He had been doing a lot of that today.

“I-I wanted to tell you …”

Two steaming cups of coffee were shoved between the two Mounties, causing them to pull apart to keep from getting scalded.

“Here’s your coffee,” Sylvia bit out and walked away as quickly as possible.

“Sorry. I’m sure she’s just having a bad day.”

“I think I’ll have to get used to that kind of behaviour from women.” Her expression changed and she looked troubled. “I mean, well, maybe I’m assuming things which aren’t actually present.”

He pushed the cups out of the way and took her hands again. 

“I didn’t get a chance to finish. I love you, Meg Thatcher, and I want you to be a part of my life. As much as you want to be, that is.”

“Oh, I want, I do. You know, I think this must be fate or something. Think of all the second, third, and so on chances we’ve been given. We almost died on that train and I stupidly ordered you to forget what we found there. You were almost blown up in the courthouse and then actually flirted with me when it was over, but did I do anything about it? No. That was our second chance. Then, Bolt kidnaps us. That was the third chance and should have been the last.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we should have died or at the very least, I should have. I was in there for over six hours, naked, freezing. I shouldn’t have lived. Then, you came and I was saved. You kept us both alive. You never gave up even when I did. And what do I do? I leave you.”

“You had to leave. You were ordered to do so.”

“I suppose. I mean I honestly thought about quitting like Detective Vecchio said, but you stopped me from doing it. I told myself (and my grandfather) that I was going to come back to you. That was my goal. I’ve had three chances, but I don’t know if I’m going to get anymore. It’s now or never.”

“Then, you achieved that goal.”

“Have I? Have I really?”

“Absolutely.” He boldly leaned over the table and captured her willing lips in a lingering kiss.

Neither of the two Mounties heard the shattering of plates in the kitchen or Sylvia’s colorful cursing.

TBC

Author’s Notes: Epilogue to follow and then, we’re done. Thanks for taking the time to read.


	19. Chapter 19

Epilogue

Fraser opened the door with two armloads of groceries and a bouquet of roses balanced precariously between the bags. He barely got inside the apartment before one of the paper grocery bags slid to the floor.

This apartment was a far cry from the his first one in Chicago. It was a modest, but clean two bedroom unit in a safe area of the city. It was probably a hidden blessing that his old building burned down. Since he and Meg both needed to find a place to live at the same time, it just made sense to combine their resources.

“Ben?” a voice called out from the other room. “Did you get the pasta?”

“Got it,” he called back.

Meg walked out of the kitchen and the sight of her brought that familiar smile to his face. She was wearing a tank top, shorts, and a large apron which said in bright red letters, “Kiss the Cook”. It was a housewarming gift from Ray.  
She was kneading a mound of dough back and forth between her delicate fingers. However, it was the trail of her sock feet leading from the kitchen, outlined in split flour that drove him over the edge. She still suffered from perpetually cold feet, one of the reminders of their time in the ‘icebox’. Ben thought it was adorable.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Meg asked with a nervous smile of her own.

“You are beautiful.”

Ben dropped the other bag and let the roses fall to the floor. He rushed forward and tried to engulf her in a hug, but she dodged him and headed back to the kitchen.

“You moron.” She still called him that on occasion, but now it was mostly in jest.

“I’m happy! I’m in love with a beautiful woman and I’ve never been this happy in my entire life.”

She managed to get the dough into the greased bowl before he pinned her against the kitchen counter. Ben had learned a lot about his former supervisor these past few months and one of the most important things was the location of each and every erogenous zone on her body. One of the most sensitive parts of her neck was where it connected with her shoulder and collarbone. Ben quickly located the exact spot and trailed his lips down the delicate arch of her neck.

She sighed in appreciation and twisted around to face him in a furtive effort to slow him down.

“Ben, we have guests coming.”

He continued peppering kisses along her neck and started heading for her jawline. “They won’t be here for two more hours.”

“I need to bake the bread.” He could tell her resolve was crumbling.

“I bought a loaf at the market.”

“Oh, hell…”

His jeans ended up over the kitchen chair, his shirt draped over the bread bowl. Equally, Meg’s clothes seemed to fall away of their own accord until he lifted her up onto the kitchen counter, pushing their dinner ingredients out of the way. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist as he pushed inside her. 

oOo

Ray rang the bell at precisely seven o’clock. 

As Benton opened the door, Ray was, once again, surprised at how natural his friend looked in this domesticate setting. A part of him wanted to make a joke about being whipped or ask where the old ball and chain was, but he couldn’t do that to his friend, not when he looked so happy. And he wasn’t the only one happy, Thatcher was a completely different woman. She was actually … nice. And shockingly enough, Ray actually enjoyed being around them.

“Here ya go, buddy,” Ray said as he handed over a bottle of wine for Fraser.

“Thank you kindly, Ray.” 

With perfect timing, Meg walked out of the kitchen with a corkscrew in her hand, having anticipated Ray’s standard gift. She had changed into stylish capris and sleeveless knit sweater with a small beaded necklace.

“Good evening, Louise,” called Meg to the woman standing slightly behind Ray in the doorway.

Assistant District Attorney Louise St. Laurent stepped forward to greet Meg with a hug. 

“Thank you for hosting … again. I so need this night. What a week! The Gillespie jury was just sequestered and they asked for take-out from Les Nomades. You order pizza when you're motivated to find a verdict. You order seven-course, pricey French food when you’re settling in for the long haul.” She eyed the corkscrew with interest. “I know exactly what to do with that. Hand it over.”

They popped open the bottle and poured out three glasses of wine. Fraser declined as usual.

“Slow down on that wine, detective,” warned Meg. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Oh good, I’m starving,” said Louise as they all headed toward the small dining table. “I do so hope you made that wonderful bread of yours, Meg. It’s delicious.”

“Yes, Louise. It’s the same recipe I always make.” Meg gave Ben a sideways glance.  
oOo

“What’s the hold up with dessert?” Louise asked as she walked into the kitchen and saw Ray walking around the kitchen like he was examining a crime scene.

“Oh, no. Not again,” she groaned.

“Yep. Definite powder residue all over the place, scuff marks on the floor.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of being a detective, Ray? And that’s bread flour residue.”

“I know. I’ve seen it all before. You can’t blame a guy for loving his job. Don’t you love your job?”

“Yeah, but it’s not illegal to have sex on your own kitchen counter.” Louise pointed to the two imprints on the counter near the abandoned bowl full of dried out dough. 

“Oh yeah. You’ve got a good eye, Louise. That’s definitely Thatcher’s butt print in the bread flour.”

“And I so love that bread.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I know my Italian bread and the bread we ate tonight came from Roesner’s Bakery. I’d know it anywhere. It’s always from Roesner’s. I’m not sure she can even bake.” He winked knowingly.

“Hmmm.”

“Maybe we should have dinner at your place next time.”

“I can’t cook.”

“Doesn’t seem to slow Meg down.” 

Ray grabbed the gelato from the freezer and Louise got the bowls and spoons and headed back to the dining room.

oOo

“That was a nice evening. I’m always surprised that we get along so well with Ray and Louise.”

They were in their small bedroom preparing for sleep, their guests long gone and the kitchen completely cleaned, including that pesky countertop.

“You mean how well I get along with Ray and Louise.” Meg spoke as she cleansed her face at the sink inside their ensuite.

Ben sat on the edge of the bed and started to remove his shoes. Diefenbaker was in the corner of the room, circling his dog bed three times before settling down for sleep. It took him a long time to learn to share Ben with another human. Of course, considering that the last woman Fraser had a relationship with shot him and left him for dead, Diefenbaker took to Meg quite well.

“Well, you and Ray haven’t always seen eye to eye.”

She held the towel to her face. “You mean I used to be a bitch. It’s okay, Ben, you can say it.”

He shook his head slowly from side to side. “No, I can’t. Not really.” The expression on his face wasn’t nearly as serious as his words.

“I’ve always gotten on well with Louise.”

She walked out of the bathroom wearing only her bra and matching black panties … and the ever present thick socks covering her feet.

“That makes sense. You’re both powerful women.” Ben was down to his boxers and black socks. 

Her voice was bitter as she pulled her nightgown out of the dresser. “Powerful? Today, I worked on Inspector Palin’s fingernails for forty-five minutes. Thank God, she didn’t want a pedicure.”

“She’s trying to get you to request a transfer.”

Meg unsnapped her bra and pulled the nightgown on over her head.

“That’s never going to happen. At least she’s leaving you alone.” 

“I don’t want to talk about her tonight.” 

Ben walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and started to nuzzle her neck. Meg automatically leaned her head to the side to give him better access.

“Did I hear Louise talking to you about something career-wise?” he mumbled into her neck.

“Mmm. Yeeesss. Something about an opening in the DA’s office. She thought I would be qualified, but it would mean obtaining guest worker status.”

He lifted his head to ask her a serious question. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Who knows? Maybe I could make it back to Inspector again in the RCMP. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter, right?” She turned around so she could see his face when he answered her.

“Not to me it doesn’t,” Ben answered, drawing her into his arms.

“Exactly. And I know that, whatever happens, we’ll always have each other,” she continued, running her hands up his chest and twining her arms around his neck.

“Always.”

“Then who cares?” Meg whispered, leaning up and pressing her lips to his. He groaned and tightened his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. And in the end, this was all that mattered –feeling warm, safe and, above all, loved.

oOo

Robert Fraser sat at the kitchen table trying, without success, to pick up the salt shaker. His hand passed right through it.

“You’re doing that all wrong, you know.”

Robert looked up to see Sgt Thatcher standing next to him.

“Oh, hiya George,” Robert greeted his newest friend, actually the only one he had made since dying.

The older Mountie reached over and poked the salt shaker with the tip of his finger and pushed it across the table.

“When are you going to teach me how to do that?” Fraser was astounded and impressed, although he wasn’t going to admit it.

“It’s all about faith, my boy.”

“What? You mean if you believe in yourself? That sort of thing?”

“No, no. You don’t understand.” He sat down across from Fraser. “It’s not your faith in yourself; it’s your son’s faith in you.”

Robert looked stunned.

“See, my Meg… She believes in me. That’s why I can move salt shakers and why I was able to help her in that trailer.”

Fraser leaned back in the chair with a helpless expression on his face. “Oh, hell. If that’s the case, then I’m doomed.”

There was a suspicious bumping noise from the bedroom. 

“Wish he didn’t believe in my hearing quite so well.”

The End

Author’s Notes: 

Done! And just in time for the next polar vortex! Those poor people who live in Boston.

Sorry this thing took so darn long to finish. I have one more idea for Meg and Ben and I hope I can refrain from posting it until it’s complete. ...we’ll see.

I’d like to send a special “thank you kindly” to RobinLady-In-Waiting, Rugbygirrl, nutmeg9cat, Autumn’s Joy, MiniCinnamon99, Lovebird47 and many others who did not sign or and whom I missed.

If there are any readers still out there, I’d really appreciate it if you would take the time to leave a review. 

Thank you kindly, j


End file.
